Potter's Black
by AntimonySR71
Summary: A different version of events from the end of The Order of the Phoenix. FanNoWriMo, with the first "book" done. Updates will be a chapter a day. Unfortunately the chapters are not of equal length, so please bear with me. If you are looking for a story with substantial action, this is NOT it.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Lu**

For perhaps the first time in a long time, Luna felt happy. There was something comforting in a friend's genuine query and gesture to help gather her things, the ones which her housemates had decided to scatter throughout the castle.

(It was after all the main part of the game they had all called Losing Luna, where the winner would be determined based on the one who could lose most possessions of Luna's. In the end though, in their minds at least everyone was a winner. With the sole exception of the person at the receiving end, Luna Lovegood)

She sighed. Now was not the time to think such thoughts. No, some good had indeed come out of it and she was determined to hang on to it.

Her train ride back had been an interesting learning experience for her. It allowed her to see past the surface of each person much better this time round. The trip to Hogwarts had been an interesting one as well, but at that point she hadn't spoken to any of the others with the exception of the two youngest Weasleys. The return leg though, she knew each of them personally, and as is wont to happen after an adrenaline filled trip, there was a camadarie between them, each of them having learnt some rather painful lessons.

And that shared experience had allowed her to unmask the golden trio (as everyone but they themselves called them) as well as Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley.

A smile graced her lips, as her eyes continued to stare unseeing out of the window in her room at the Rookery. There was something she had sensed, between varied parties in the compartment and it would be interesting to see how it all played out.

Her father had forgotten to pick her up from the station again. Actually that wasn't quite true. Her father didn't realize even that it was the end of term time and that she would be back. But that didn't bother Luna too much. She had been used to doing this travel by herself from her Christmas trip during her first year.

From the Slippery Six (as she was sure The Daily Prophet was going to call them) her thoughts came to dwell on her father.

She was sure that the impression that more than half the magical world had of him as a nutter was ill-founded. His ideas were strange, yes, but that did not necessarily mean his screws were a little off, did it? No, in Luna's book her dad was as close to normal as could be. One needed to spend time with him to find out his true nature. Someday the magical world would realize that too.

Her thoughts then shifted to her other parent, the one who had departed from her life at a young age. An accident, they told her. And plain bad luck, they told her. Her mom, who always ensured that she took the highest of precautions before conducting her, at times, highly volatile studies, had, for reasons best known to her, underestimated the potency of the potion that she was working on.

Luna could remember that night very well. It had been a glorious day, with the sun out in full glory, ensuring that every living being that depended at some level on it got enough of its attention. She had sat by the stream that ran behind the Rookery and gazed at the sparkling water till the time the temptation to jump into the stream overwhelmed her.

She wasn't a gifted swimmer any means, and so she had stayed quite close to the shore making sure that she had enough of a support to hold onto so that she wasn't swept by the current of the stream.

The whole experience had been exhilarating to her and once she was out of the pool, she debated with herself whether or not to tell her parents. Just as she had made up her mind to confess, she was thrown off her feet into the nearest tree. Dazed, she got up to see that her mom's lab was on fire.

Panic set in. She was terrified for her mother. "Please let her be OK, please let her be OK!", over and over she prayed to all the deities she knew. "I swear I will not do something that mom and dad told me not to do. Please, please let her be OK"

Luna ran. She ran like she had never run before, an effort that along with the blow she had just received, was quite substantial for a girl of her age.

She got there just as her dad apparated to the same spot. Ward stones tied to the welfare of the house had obviously indicated to him that something had gone terribly wrong and he had arrived as soon as he could.

Father and daughter looked at one another, expressions of fear etched clearly for the other to see. Xeno would have liked to have had more adults with him, but at the moment that was probably not going to happen. The Patronus charm, he could have used, but he was sure that he would not be able to conjure up a happy enough memory at this point, with the scene in front of him.

Xeno tried to put out the fire with the water spell, Aguamenti, but it proved to be useless. He kept increasing the power behind the spell in a desperate attempt to get something to work. But nothing worked.

Finally, abandoning all other options, Xeno had turned to Luna, and given her a look that Luna would continue to remember for the rest of her life, before he ran into the lab. He did not stop at any point and simply rammed through the still bolted door inside.

For Luna, the wait was excruciating and it was another thing that she would never forget. She waited anxiously, her fears growing with every passing minute. She briefly thought of contacting the Weasleys or the Diggorys but she wasn't sure how she would be able to. And she wanted to make sure that her parents were safe.

Finally after what seemed like eternity to Luna, her dad emerged. For one heart-stopping she thought she saw only him coming out. But the next instant she realized that Xeno was carrying Celeste in his arms, bridal style.

She watched as they approached, and as they reached closer she realized that her mother's chest was still.

Panic, far surpassing the one on her run, took control of her. She looked for reassurance from her father, but he seemed to be staring morosely at the ground where he had laid Celeste down. When he finally looked at her, she involuntarily took a step back.

The eyes looking at her were devoid of any and all emotion. There was not a spark of life in them.

And for Luna, who had always noticed that her father's eyes were always twinkling with merriment or had an intensity that very few could ever hope to match, she knew what that meant.

Her mother was dead.

The last thing she remembered before blackness claimed her and as she saw her father concentrate his magic on to one of the wardstones nearby (no doubt to call someone for help this time), was wondering who it was that had let out a scream of pure grief and one conveying immense loss and realizing it was herself, moments before she knew no more.

When she came back to, she was told it was an accident. That now was the time she would have to be strong. That their doors were always open to her if she needed any help.

Luna remembered not being aware of any of those conversations, just that they happened as the voices in her ear kept changing from time to time, and from what her dad told her later. She just sat at the same location, staring off into nothingness, not really comprehending much about what had happened, but just knowing that she would never see her mum awake again.

That she would never get to hear her sing her a lullaby again.

That she would never be able to hold interesting conversations with her again.

A sudden idea popped into the mind of the nine year old girl, and she stood up abruptly. The change in position was met with very vocal protests by her body and she very nearly fell down in the process. Only her dad supporting her at the nick of time allowed her to remain upright.

She turned towards her dad, who was looking at her with utmost concern, worried for her. She asked him in a tone that demanded an answer and yet managed to sound both confident and vulnerable at the same time, as only a child can.

"Daddy! Did you try kissing Mum? They say it is magic and it always works in those fairy tales!"

She remembered her dad's response. Or rather the lack of it. His mouth kept opening and closing multiple times like a fish trying to breathe on land, with no sound coming out, while tears began to track their way down his cheeks.

The words spoken, in a moment of unbearable grief, would remain Luna's motto for years to come

"There are no such things as fairy tales in real life, sweetie"

She sighed and turned back into her room, with the gesture returning back to the present. Now was not the time to be dwelling on this. And speaking of time, she cast the Tempus charm to find out exactly what the hour was.

It was well past sunset now, and the sky too had changed its colours from blue to blushing pink to dark blue approaching black. It was time to get things ready for dinner and surprise her father as well. Hopefully her father had kept something at home. She really didn't fancy walking out into the adjoining forest for some berries and further on for some fish or to hike to the nearest town to get her supplies.

Keeping her fingers crossed, she began her trek to the kitchen, all the while thinking and hoping that her new friends would write to her.

She had just made new ones, and she desperately wanted their friendships to last.

Oh how it would last


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: N**

I knew it. I knew he would mess it up. It was a simple task, and yet he messed it up. And guess who has to pay the price for that now.

Yes, that is right. It is yours truly. And if it were only me, it wouldn't be a problem now would it? No, for in this stupid society, the burden has to be passed on to the son.

The son carries the cross for his father's mistakes.

Now I have to figure a way out of this for my son. And there are precious few that I can trust. Most of them are no doubt happy to see that he failed and the family name has taken a severe beating.

Oh when I get my hands on him, he is going to wish that he wasn't born or that he wasn't married to me. He will rue the day he got engaged to me.

You may think I am being harsh. But if you were to look at the facts, you will agree with me.

It takes special skill to mess up a simple task against six teenagers, when you have eleven other people by your side.

There is no use in thinking about what has happened. Now I need to focus and find a solution to the problem in front of me.

I will not let that megalomaniac claim my son as well.

I think I have a fair idea of what he wants my son to do - kill one of the most powerful wizards of the modern age.

That bastard!

What utter crap!

I couldn't care less about my cursing. There is a limit to the amount of nonsense that one can take and fortunately or unfortunately, mine was passed just before I started this train of thought.

What is the way out? Bellatrix is useless, the same as my husband, dear Lucius.

And none of the others will help. They all want to see the Malfoy name fall further.

But I will show them. The daughter of Black and the bride of Malfoy will show the others that it is a folly to discount us.

What? You thought I bought into the Dark Lord's nonsense?

No. I didn't.

Yes, I am a pureblood and proud of that.

Yes, I am not fond of muggleborns as well (on principle I refuse to use the term mudblood).

But I don't believe that the Dark Lord has the solution.

It has been clear to me that he has only his own interests in mind. And that his followers, are mere minions for him to attain his cause.

It is also clear to me that his thinking is severely addled and fraught with inconsistencies.

If nothing else, then for the sake of my family alone I hope he loses.

Oh, I won't be working against him. But I won't be working for him very much as well.

That would be the most Slytherin thing to do now, wouldn't it?

Slytherins! That is it! Snape! The Potions Master of Hogwarts and the Head of House Slytherin. How did I not think of him first!?

Severus. Hmmmm. He is Draco's godfather. Perhaps I could use his help in this matter.

But what can I offer him in return? The man practically lives like a hermit, asking for nothing and taking nothing.

I need to find out what he wants and bargain Draco's safety for that.

I hope it is worth it.

In any case I need to have a Plan B in place. In the event that Severus too is unable to fulfil his end of the bargain.

While I am at it, I think I should have plans from letters B to Z and then some I suppose.

There is never anything wrong about being too prepared, is there?

No. There isn't

Ah the outline of Plan B has just begun to make itself known in my mind.

Not quite Plan B, but more of essentials needed for the success of any of the plans.

Mainly, for the success of keeping my son alive.

Now to find Draco and begin his lessons. This might be the only thing that stands between him staying alive and dropping dead.

He needs to learn real magic now. Not the wishy-washy stuff that is taught to the kids at that ridiculous school.

There is so much that I need to teach him, and there is so little time.

Lucius and more importantly Bella must never hear of what I plan to teach Draco.

Hmmmm. That poses a problem.

I am sure the Dark Lord is going to order Bellatrix to teach Draco about Occlumency. He already knows the basics, but I am sure the Master (not my Master) will want his shields to be as potent as that of an adult's.

Which means I will be able to teach Draco whatever I want to teach him only after that. Otherwise all the plans wll be laid bare when Bella mounts her Leglimency attacks at full force as she is bound to do.

Hmmm. Problems, decisions, more problems and more decisions.

Well there is nothing for it. I might as well make the best use of it. In fact, the more I think about it, it seems to me that teaching Draco after Bellatrix completes his mind training would be best. I would be able to prepare in detail what I want to teach Draco. It will be more meaningful and useful that way.

Damn it! I should have been a teacher at Hogwarts! But no, I decided it was beneath me and I have no doubts that Dumbledore would not have approved it.

Or maybe he would have. After all, he is big on second chances isn't he?

And third chances.

And fourth chances.

Now let me get back on track. First things first. I need to make a list of the subjects that I need to equip Draco with some knowledge in. He is most definitely not going to be sitting for OWLs and NEWTs in these subjects, so the practical aspects of the courses will be more important.

Which means I need to be able to find a secure place where I can teach him.

And preferably in a place that the Dark Lord doesn't know.

And most importantly, a place that would allow me to keep up the illusion that I am still at home, attending to the Master's needs like a faithful Death Eater.

Where can I find such a place? Hmmm.

The House of Black in London may work.

But I can't seem to remember the address of that place. Damn it.

Nevermind, I will think of something. I will come through. For my son.

At the end of all this nonsense, the wizarding world will know me, one way or the other.

The name is Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, from the house of cunning and ambition!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: S**

Two years previously...

He enjoyed the air on his face. At that altitude, the air was without any doubt cold, but to him, it had a warmth that he had missed for twelve years. Not even when he was on the run earlier in the year had he felt this free. His quest to reach Hogwarts and complete the task for which he had been imprisoned in the first place had given the whole experience a war mission like feel.

Now, although he was still on the run, his whole being felt a lot lighter than before. He had met his godson as well as his closest friends (one of them briefly and one a lot longer which included saving his very life) and had managed to convince them of his innocence.

Of course it had helped that Remus had also been around to add his support to a truly incredible tale.

In the end, even though he would have very much liked to have killed Peter Pettigrew (he forced back the urge to vomit at the mention of the name itself), Sirius Black was happier that common sense had prevailed and that he had gotten a little time to bond with his godson.

To him it was the only bright spot in what had become an extremely wretched existence.

He pushed away the thoughts, the colour the same as his family name, and focused on guiding Buckbeak to a safe place to land. They had been travelling for more than a couple of hours now and Sirius knew that even though the Hippogriff showed no signs of fatigue at the moment, there was no point in increasing that risk. All would be for naught then.

Spotting a clearing in what seemed to be a forest a few miles ahead, he quickly disillusioned himself as well as Buckbeak and gently guided the half-horse half-eagle to the open space.

For someone who had not flown for the past dozen years, and who preferred other instant modes of transport in any case, the landing served to reinforce why the choice was such.

Massaging his globular maximus, while still trying to inject some sense of feeling into his limbs, Sirius Black groaned. It was now apparent to him why the ministry had never bothered to outlaw travel by such beasts.

It was quite literally a pain in the rear.

Nevertheless he was thankful and as had become his custom (something that he had adopted from Lily) he looked to the sky and offered his gratitude. And as was his wont, his eyes quickly searched for the Orion constellation, and sought out his namesake in particular. Seeing it twinkling merrily always gave him a sense of calmness, something he had never managed to understand why, but which he accepted and often needed whenever his mind was troubled.

He turned towards Buckbeak who was observing him, well, seriously (or would that be siriously he wondered). The beast said nothing, continued to gaze at him unflinching for a couple of seconds before emitting a sharp sound.

Now, Sirius was no expert with animals, even though he had an Animagus form. But he knew enough about the primal side to understand that Buckbeak was probably hungry and at the moment expected Sirius to feed him as payment for the ride.

(Of course this understanding was generously helped by a loud sound which if Sirius had not known better, would have guessed to be a whale's mating call. As it had originated from him and as he wasn't a whale, at least till the last time he had checked, he was pretty certain it was his stomach protesting from hunger)

Thankfully for him though Hermione had given him a couple of fruits that she always kept in reserve. She hadn't explained why she felt the need to keep in reserve but it ended up being beneficial to him. He had protested initially that he would be fine, but Hermione first and Harry later had been quite firm in that it would be better for him to keep it instead of them.

And their foresight would now quite literally help Sirius stave off hunger at least temporarily.

He decided then and there that he would be sending both of them thank you gifts.

Even when they weren't around, the two had saved him again.

The thought brought about fresh tears to Sirius' eyes and it devolved into a full fledged wailing.

Buckbeak gave a startled squawk at the sobbing which allowed Sirius to pull himself together.

He opened the satchel that Hermione had given him and took out the fruits, a couple of slices of bread, serviettes (that girl truly thought of everything!) and to his surprise what seemed like muggle biscuits.

He threw the vast majority of the fruits towards Buckbeak and sat down to enjoy his mini meal of sliced bread and biscuits.

His thoughts now shifted fully towards his two rescuers, and he wondered how the future would unfold for them.

Perhaps there was something brewing between the two of them that both of them had not yet noticed.

A large grin spread on the old dog's face. Perhaps the next time Sirius met Harry, it would be a great opportunity to tease him to test out his theory.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he rummaged through the satchel to ensure that nothing had been missed and nor was there anything that accidentally the two kids had forgotten about.

It was empty, save for a small flask that contained some water. Drinking about half of the quantity, Sirius got up and made a makeshift bowl for Buckbeak and poured the rest of the water into it.

The minute he had finished, he felt quite tired. The day's events had taken a toll on him and so had his wandless magic. Twelve wasted years. Twelve years of no exercise, with only bare survival on the menu and hope alternating with desperation for the rare dessert.

Although he was now miles from that accursed place, he could still feel everything as if it were happening right in front of him. As if he were back in Azkaban. And for a moment, that is exactly how he felt. He began to move around, circling wildly about his original position, putting out his hand to shield him from harm and attempting to turn into his Animagus form to escape the pain.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), he did not have sufficient energy to draw from to be able to attempt the transformation.

The circling continued at an ever-increasing pace, causing Sirius to spin around wildly trying to fend off the imaginary dementors. Suddenly, it was the situation by the Black Lake from a few hours ago, when dementors were practically swarming around him and Harry. He let out a cry of anguish and fell to his knees, as the last of his physical strenght drained out of him.

The fall though wasn't smooth and he ended up bruising his knees against the lone sharp rock that jutted from the ground. The cut sent adrenaline flowing into his veins allowing him to clear the cobwebs that had settled in front of his eyes. Shaking his head to pull himself together, he realized that Buckbeak had approached him and was neighing softly, in a manner very much like a horse.

Sirius stroked Buckbeak's feathers, all the while whispering to the proud beast, "I am alright. Don't worry. I am fine", though he had no idea if the Hippogriff would be able to understand him. It seemed it did, because Buckbeak leaned further into Sirius' touch.

Looking up at the sky once more and gaining peace once again, Sirius turned in for the night, hoping that the rest of the night would feature no nightmares.

This prayer would be answered.

The only prayer that would be answered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: S**

Earlier this year...

He woke up again. Screaming again. Like the night before.

And the one before that.

And the one before that.

And the many ones before that.

He had placed silencing charms around his bed. There was no point in letting the few Order members who stayed behind, like Remus, know his personal problems.

Although, he was sure that he needed to let someone know about them lest it harm him further.

The problem was that he didn't know who to confide in. The immediate names to pop out were Harry and Remus, but he did not want to worry either of them even further.

Harry was having his hands full dealing with that Fudge lackey, Umbridge. That woman seemed to be out to literally persecute him.

Oh how Sirius loathed her. She was his exact antithesis. If only he were free, then he would have brought down the weight of House Black on her.

Put that toad in its proper place, far from magical and muggle Britain. In fact, Sirius mused, if possible he would put her somewhere even further away - the moon perhaps (oh wait, that would be a problem. It would be like she were constantly watching them, which would be even worse than it was currently. Nope. That was no go. That idea had to be scrapped)

It seemed like Harry had been becoming increasingly ill-tempered as well. But could Sirius fault him for that? He had been hot-headed all those years ago and look where it had gotten him. After all it was like godfather, like godson. Or something similar.

He could talk to Remus, he supposed. But with the Ministry watching everything and penalizing heavily anyone who so much as uttered a single word against the government and the increased suspicion towards dark creatures like werewolves, Moony seemed to have enough on his plate to deal with himself.

(He did notice that his niece making eyes at Remus who was determinedly avoiding meeting them. That usually provided much needed comic relief to Sirius, who couldn't decide between being amused or exasperated with their antics)

No, both of them were ruled out.

He supposed he could always talk to Dumbledore, but he didn't really feel that as being a good idea.

True, he had worked under the man for quite a while now and respected him immensely. But he was no longer as trusting of the man as he might once have been.

Although it felt childish, a small part of him blamed the Headmaster for letting him languish in prison.

True, his actions and his manic laughter at the alley had been taken as proof of his crimes and given the circumstances, that course of events could only lead to that particular outcome.

But it pained him to no end that not one person had stood up to question if he truly had committed the crime. And if some ordinary citizen had raised objection, then it would have lead them to probably joining Sirius Black in his fate, for being a Death Eater sympathizer.

There were only one of three who could have done something about it. One of whom, he was sure would never have come to his aid, was the Director of the MLE, Barty Crouch. He had never seen eye to eye with Barty and so he wasn't surprised when Barty didn't speak a word to him as he tossed him to Azkaban.

Millicent Bagnold, well she was a decent Minister and did what was necessary. Tough decisions she did take, or took as much as the Wizengamot allowed her to. But at the end of the day she was a politician and to have questioned the innocence of Sirius Black would have been tantamount to committing political suicide. Never mind the fact that her query would have been vindicated, but the vilification till that point would "prove" to the populace at large that she was privy to the workings of You Know Who and still wasn't taking sufficient action to stop the horror that was being unleashed.

That left only one possible option. The Chief Warlock, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

And he had stayed silent through it all.

Dumbledore had known that there was a spy in the Order. They all did. And they all knew that the person was well known to the Potters in particular. So that narrowed down the set to the Marauders.

Examining the whole issue from Dumbledore's point of view, Sirius had to admit that even he, who most thought to all-knowing, couldn't and clearly didn't know it all. It was very much possible that he fell into the same trap as the others in thinking that Sirius was indeed the one who was guilty. After all, even Dumbledore didn't know when the Fidelius Charms over Godric's Hollow had been done. Just that it had been done. In fact, Sirius wasn't sure any more that Dumbledore had even been told of the secret. He himself had rationalized that it would be best off that he didn't know the exact location where Lily and James were staying.

Sirius suddenly sat up straighter. Something didn't compute. He (Sirius) had been told the location by the traitor. Yet, Hagrid had arrived at the place before Sirius had. How did Hagrid even know about the location in the first place?

And how was Dumbledore the first to know about James' and Lily's deaths? It really didn't make sense.

Sirius got up from his bed and began pacing up and down his room. It certainly wasn't the largest, for he refused to take up the master bedroom even though he was the rightful heir and Lord of all the Blacks.

Momentarily, his thoughts drifted to his brother, Regulus. It shamed him as he realized that he could draw upon very few moments spent with his brother. Once he had started school, he had begun to rebel more and more against his parents, first with the decorating of his rooms and finally followed by leaving the London home of the Blacks altogether. With a start he realized that most of his happy memories were with James and Remus (again, he refused to acknowledge anything to do with the rat).

He had always meant to reconnect with his brother later on, but it never happened. And looking back now, he knew that it wouldn't ever happen either.

The news of his brother's death was brought to him via an owl post that had been sent to the guards of Azkaban. He had wondered who would write to him, and it came as a shock to him to see a letter addressed to him and written to him by his father. His father, Orion Cygnus Black, the man with whom he had not spoken in years, had written to him.

Not knowing what to expect, but with tension increasing with every second, Sirius had torn open the envelope to read the message with him.

He had read it once. Nothing made sense.

He had read it a second time. It still didn't make sense.

After taking a deep breath and calming himself, Sirius had read it a third time.

And had immediately wished for the non-understanding from before.

The message had struck not one blow, not two blows, but three blows.

It was the kind of message that got sent out to the next Lord of the Black family upon the death of the most recent one.

His parents and brother had all passed away.

It seemed that his father had decided against writing off Sirius from the family. Not because of overwhelming affection, but because of the practical need to keep the control of the Black family assets within the family.

The letter provided no details on his demise, just that both his brother and his mother had passed on and that he, Orion Black too didn't have much longer to live either. His mother had passed away shortly after hearing of Regulus' death, having been left broken hearted that her favourite son was no longer with her in this world.

Orion Black gave no details, which annoyed Sirius' to no end, but which he later realized he could do nothing about given his predicament. The letter included a Gringotts form, requesting that the new Head of House Black sign with the enclosed blood quill.

Normally such quills wouldn't have passed through the guards on duty at Azkaban, given the fact that even a mildly inventive person could quickly turn such a quill into a lethal weapon. But this was from the goblins and it had been charmed to activate and later self-destruct after the completion of its purpose. Any interference in the goblin process would have been seen as a slight leading to confrontations, something that all parties had wanted to avoid, particularly in the newly found peacetime.

Sirius had signed it, albeit reluctantly. The reluctance had been twofold, one because of the fact that it formally cemented to him that he was the last of the Blacks (at least from the direct line), and the second that a major power had been entrusted to him.

The moment Sirius finished signing, the document had vanished and the blood quill had set itself on fire. He had wished that the blood quill had burned a little longer, thereby giving him a longer reprieve from the cold weather outside. But that hadn't been the case.

By this time, Sirius had returned to his bed. His body had tired itself out and unless he got some proper sleep, he would be in greater trouble come morning.

He was half-tempted to take dreamless sleep potion, but he couldn't trust anything that Kreacher brought him and he didn't want to become dependent on it too much.

He closed his eyes and hoped that he would get some decent shut eye.

The problem was that it was never the same nightmare. It seemed as though through his extended stay at Azkaban, the dementors had managed to plant a copy of themselves in his brain, causing his nightmares to be experiences of his worst fears.

He saw James' death in a thousand ways, and in many cases because he had arrived too late.

He saw Lily's death in a lot more than a thousand ways, many being used on her solely for being a muggle born and an achiever.

He saw Harry's death.

He saw Harry being tortured.

He saw Remus' death.

He saw Remus being tortured, particularly in myriad ways, typically with silver weapons.

He saw them all dead, eyes unblinking, staring at him, accusation on their faces as to why he had not come to their rescue.

At this point, the Sirius in the nightmare watching these experiences would break down and start screaming and sobbing.

Which ended up being the cue for the real-world Sirius to get up screaming and shouting and pleading as well.

With every passing day, the number of people he saw dying also increased.

Nymphadora. Andromeda. Ted.

Arthur. Molly.

Minerva. Alastor.

Every single one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Members from the past.

Alice. Frank.

Fabian. Gideon.

With the sole exception of one Snivellus Snape. Sirius wasn't convinced that the snake was now truly on the side of the light. As someone he had once overheard say, "Snape is on nobody's and everybody's side. He does what will give the best result for himself"

And with every passing day, the time between him going to sleep and him getting up were becoming shorter and shorter.

Ever since Harry's farce of a trial, Sirius had taken to spending more and more time at his family library. Since it was now abundantly clear to him and all those in the Order that the Ministry would rather live in denial than to take any meaningful action, it was up to him and the rest of the adults to teach the kids how to survive.

He had voiced this out during one of the Order meetings. With predictable reactions.

Snape had sneered at his suggestion and congratulated him for coming up with such a lousy idea for a bunch of dunderheads while wondering if this was the supposed intelligence of Sirius Black.

Remus had said nothing, merely nodding and getting a thoughtful look on his face. He was no doubt already planning what and when to teach the kids and the professor in him was out in full force.

Tonks was enthusiastic about the whole idea and was literally bouncing up and down her seat (which given her abilities as a Metamorphmagus, Sirius suspected she did put a spring in her posterior) mentioning the different trainings that she had to undergo during her time as an Auror.

Molly had begun to work herself up into quite a bit of a temper and her reply of "They are only children! We cannot, should not and WILL NOT involved them in the upcoming conflict!", Sirius was sure could be heard within a square kilometre of Grimmauld Place.

Alastor, although he wasn't looking forward to giving any training, let alone teenage kids, approved the idea whole-heartedly. His replies of "Constant Vigilance" and "Better Trained And Alive Than Untrained Than Dead" were perhaps a little too harsh for the ears of most, but the sentiment expressed in them could not be doubted.

It was Dumbledore's reaction though that surprised Sirius. Or rather the lack of it.

Usually one to not shy away from being critical or approving, he sat there quietly, saying nothing.

When Sirius pressed him, his answer of "Yes. It is important, but what is also of utmost importance is to know when the important training needs to be done. Whether or not the kids are ready to undertake training outside of their school work at this uncertain time would be advisable is an answer I cannot give lightly, and not without giving it some serious thought", left everyone completely shocked.

It was most definitely not the kind of answer that the members of the Order of the Phoenix were looking forward to hearing from their leader.

Sirius resolved, then and there that he would spend as much time in the Black library as possible, gathering all information that he could find on any topic that he thought would be useful to Harry in what seemed to be destiny to fight Voldemort.

For a fee, perhaps the goblins could hold some valuable items for him to be given to Harry at a later date.

He had a feeling that he would need to make such an arrangement, and rather quickly and without the Headmaster's knowledge at that.

But for now though, he really had to try and get some sleep. His silently and wandlessly cast Tempus showed that it was a little past four in the morning. If he slept now, he would get about two to three hours of sleep if he were lucky.

He had to try.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: S**

He gazed out the window of his house. He refused to call it home. For it had never been that to him.

The antics of his parents, and later on the pain inflicted on him by his father, he wanted to remember nothing of it.

But as it was often the case, what he wanted to forget the most was the one that was etched clearest in memory.

Spinner's End was not the neighbourhood he wanted to be in and yet at the moment it was probably where he was safest.

At the moment being the operative word.

He doubted that he had much time left on this plane of existence. He was caught in the struggle between light and dark and he was walking a thin line for both camps. One small push and that would be the end of him one way or the other.

Light and dark. He snorted at the thought. Only fools and children looked at things in such extreme fashion.

It was never clear cut. The best that he could say was that it was a fight to the finish between light grey and dark gray.

Now that that aspect of his internal debate had been settled, his mood turned morose as he examined his actions from his childhood from the time he had first seen Lily to the night he had lost her forever.

He cursed loudly and threw a punch at the nearest vase. It was no expert in the art of dodging itself and promptly broke into pieces.

Snape though felt no satisfaction from the outburst.

On the contrary, he felt anger rise up even further. Mixed with an acute sense of shame as in his head the voice of the recently departed Black taunted him saying that he could only show his powers against those who were weaker than him. He could only be a bully and never grow up.

He knew it was irrational, but he couldn't help himself. Another vase met the same fate, before he threw a punch at the wall. No shout escaped him as he used the pain to help distract himself while wandlessly and non-verbally casting the healing charm on it to reset the bones that he had no doubt broken and dislodged.

He knew the coming year was only going to get worse for him. With the Dark Lord now openly spotted, it would no longer be a time for covert operations.

It would be back to spreading full on panic in a manner reminiscent of the first war.

And Snape hated it. He had initially dismissed out of hand that the Death Eaters had to commit acts of atrocity to even get the Mark. The more he heard about it, the more he realized the actual level of depravity that permeated the group.

Yes, he was a bully (he had no intention of lying to himself), there wasn't a doubt in that. It felt like he was giving back to those who had once made his very existence hell.

But that was where he believed he would have stopped. At least that was what he had convinced himself of. He only had to think of Lily's reaction to decide whether to proceed with it or not. She had been his moral compass, at least when it came to most of the big decisions. And he knew that he would never have been able to even look at Lily if he were to go ahead with some of the horrors that the other Death Eaters had carried out.

He actually didn't have to do anything to get the Mark. The Dark Lord had wanted him on his side as he had shown precious talent in potion making, one that was sorely missing in the Dark Lord's ranks. All it needed was for the Dark Lord to say a couple of words, soothe a few feathers and promise him the world, and Snape had been sold on the idea. He should have known then that the Dark Lord was an extremely oily salesman, one who often reneged on his end of the bargain. But the fact remained that he had taken the bait, hook, line and sinker and had taken the Mark and become part of the Death Eaters.

And that had been a mistake. The Dark Lord had surprisingly deferred to Severus' skills in potion making while playing up the enmity between himself and that Potter. It wasn't an outright coercion, no, that would have wounded the Dark Lord's pride in his silver tongue skills. No, it had been subtle. Very subtle. The Dark Lord managed to keep Severus from thinking rationally, from thinking about what his moral compass would do, by constantly making him see red about Potter and how he was the more likely one that the girl would choose.

When it was put forth like that, and when was deliberately kept off-balance, the decision had been a simple one.

Join the Dark Lord to get his revenge on Potter for having stolen the one that mattered most to Severus.

(What Severus was unaware of was that there was only one possible outcome for him if he had to come out alive after the meeting with the Dark Lord. In the Dark Lord's eyes, leaving two potential Potions Masters for the enemies to take advantage of was sheer foolishness. And he was hell bent on making sure that he either had a Potions Master on his side or that Potions Master ceased to exist)

The Dark Lord too played smart. He didn't send Severus off to the hunting expeditions (as he was fond of calling those attacks on the unsuspecting and good-for-nothing Muggles) as he knew that the minute Snape stepped into the field, he would become a liability. He kept him in the dark about most activities, but still kept pulling him towards his core group.

The plan was simple.

At the end of it all, Snape would not be able to betray him or the group without essentially guaranteeing his own demise.

Severus hatred had been kept alive by constant reports (manufactured and real) about the activities of Lily and Potter. Normally, he wouldn't have fallen for such ploys for he considered himself a true Slytherin, gaining valuable and sometimes classified information and knowing when to exploit it for his ambitions through his cunning.

The problem for Severus was that his hatred had blinded what he normally would have questioned and not trusted till he had seen it himself.

The Severus in the present knew this and sighed audibly. He was supposed to have been smarter than to have fallen for the promises of a mad man, but he had. He had paid dearly for it and it would seem that he would pay even more for it. Fifteen years of a hermit-like existence had not dulled the pain and the guilt and the anger at himself.

Casting aside that line of thought, Severus focused on the likely aftermath of the Department of Mysteries episode. For the Dark Lord, it was a major setback, he knew that, while for the Order it had been a victory, but one that had come at a price (that he was sure he would have gladly paid anyways)

If only that damn Potter boy had applied his Occlumency lessons properly, then none of this would have occurred. But no! The brat couldn't even follow simple instructions! And Dumbledore thought that he was the only hope? What a load of tosh!

Lucius had been stupid enough to get himself captured, when taking on a bunch of teenage school kids. The Dark Lord would extract a price for this failure.

And he knew what the price was.

And he knew who would be visiting him shortly.

It just reconfirmed his belief that he didn't have much longer to live.

Perhaps, when it was all done and he was all done here, Lily would forgive him. He knew it was a long shot, he knew how fiery her temper was, he knew how long she kept grduges.

But he sincerely hoped that she would forgive him.

Otherwise, eternity was going to be hell for a very long time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Re**

The wolf within was furious. It wanted to do nothing more than hunt, hurt and possibly kill those responsible for the death of one of its pack members. And it wanted to simply leave this mess and go far beyond and start over again. Some place where it would get some peace.

But it also wanted to protect what it saw as its cub from all harm.

The human within whom the wolf resided had the same thoughts as the lupine within.

Remus had never so much wanted to destroy those who had hurt Sirius. It was taking every bit of his self-control not to let the wolf side gain control of his mind. He knew that once that happened, very few people would be safe and there would be no turning back.

But boy, was he sorely tempted!

Padfoot was gone. Another of the original Marauders had departed for his next journey, leaving him almost all alone.

Almost because he knew he owed it to Prongs and Padfoot to take care of Pronglet.

He would not let any harm come to Pronglet if he could manage it. And may Heaven save Wormtail (he briefly lost his control letting out a very loud and very wolf-like snarl. Thankfully though there wasn't anyone with him in his room that he had rented in Muggle London) if he were to ever cross paths with Moony.

That rat would be shown no mercy.

Remus took a deep breath to calm himself down.

Unfortunately for him though, it didn't work.

He was far too strung up and in a far too morose mood for it to have been beneficial.

He kept going over that fateful day, wondering if there was anything that he could have done to have saved his best friend.

But he knew in his heart of hearts that no matter what he tried, it would end up in the same situation - Sirius would still be dead.

There was nothing you could do to prevent something from happening, as the moment you did that you stepped into a different time line forever.

Remus briefly contemplated the idea before the wolf within (if it were possible) shot the idea down ruthlessly.

That would be tantamount to abandoning his cub, the only one of the pack that was left.

And wolves don't leave members behind if they can help it.

A strange thought made his way into his mind, something that was totally random. He wondered if the Liverpool football team's anthem of "You Will Never Walk Alone" had been based off the pack behaviour of wolves.

He case that thought aside, for while it was a good distraction, it didn't help him figure out what he should do next.

One thing he knew for certain was that the wolf was going to take greater control and he was going to let it as well. For far too long he had played nice, listened to too many people and had hardly put his foot down when he needed to.

No longer was that going to be the case.

The wolf had often ensured his safety in life or death situations. And instead of waiting till such scenarios to make flight or fight decisions, Remus reasoned that combining the soft human and the tough wolf traits would help in his and more importantly, the people who mattered most to him, survival.

Perhaps if he had let his wolf instincts take greater control, Sirius would still be with them all now.

His guilt returned with full force now. Not because he had kept his inner wolf so tightly caged, but because he should have tried to talk to Padfoot more.

Although Sirius would deny it and would never openly ask for help, Moony knew that Padfoot had been struggling.

In the mornings, Sirius would invariably be the first one at the breakfast table, which was a highly unusual occurrence who used to take pride in the fact that he would sleep till the last possible minute before classes and yet arrive looking as dapper as ever.

Remus remembered clearly the first night he had spent at Grimmauld Place, he thought he heard some voices coming from a level above him (no matter what he tried, Sirius couldn't get the wards on the house to permit werewolves on the top floor of the house and he hadn't been able to tinker on the house's wardstone as well)

Being unable to go and check up on Sirius, Remus decided to ask him about it the next day at breakfast.

When he came down for breakfast, Remus who was usually the first to wake up, was surprised to see Sirius sitting at the table staring blankly at the wall in front of him. It became immediately clear to Moony that Sirius had hardly slept (further evidence being the bags under the eyes).

But before he could ask Padfoot anything, Sirius began to grill him completely about Harry and what he thought about his skills and where he thought he should improve. Remus wasn't sure if it was a query that Sirius had been thinking of for a while or if he started on the topic with no preamble just to divert Moony's attention from asking him about the bags under the eyes.

For the moment though, Remus let it slide, resolving to come back to it at a later point and started telling Sirius stories of Harry from his time spent in the Defence class. And where there was Harry mentioned, one could not be far from mentioning both Ron and Hermione as well and so Moony kept Padfoot in rapt attention as he told him the adventures that had happened during the year and the ones from the previous years as well.

He could see that Sirius was lapping it all up, absorbing every word that Remus said with great gusto and pride. There were moments though when Sirius would unexpectedly ask him a random question on the general education system, on Dumbledore and on things that just didn't fit with the flow of the conversation.

Remus also noticed that Sirius was immensely proud of his godson and would close his eyes, with tears streaming down his cheeks to highlight the point. Other times though, the eyes would still be closed and the current story not one that was particularly interesting, but tears would still be streaming down his cheeks.

Whenever it was the second style, Sirius would ask Remus to stop his narration and quietly leave for his own bedroom.

Remus had seen then, should have asked him then if everything was OK, but he had never done that. Moony, being an extremely private person, was one who didn't appreciate people coming up to check on him immediately. He would much rather wait for them to enter once he had calmed down and composed himself. And it was the same rule that he had decided to follow for Sirius as well.

The problem was that every time he waited, Sirius would take an awful lot of time to come back down to the dining area. Invariably, work for the Order would also enter into the equation and the thought of checking on Sirius would slip his mind.

He never failed to notice that Sirius was always the first one at the breakfast table. And while he could no longer see bags under his eyes, Remus strongly suspected that his old friend was using glamour based charms to cover them up. He also noticed that Padfoot never stayed long at the table to discuss and greet any of the remaining guests at Grimmauld Place.

Almost as soon as he was done, Sirius had begun to head back upstairs, some times to his room and other times to the library. What he was looking for, Sirius never said, and nor did Remus ask him anything.

But Remus had to highlight Sirius' situation to someone, and that had to be done soon. The only name that he could think of was that young Auror who had joined the Order.

Nymphadora Tonks.

But one who wanted the world to call her only Tonks.

(Personally he thought the name was quite fetching and amusing, being uncommon as it was. But as he preferred having all parts of his body in perfect working condition if possible, he called her by the name she wanted everyone to call her. Tonks)

He knew that Tonks' mother was one of Sirius' closest cousins during their younger days. Andromeda had cut-off contact from most of the Black family once she had married Ted Tonks, as the alternative was that she would be an "accidental" victim of pureblood policies. While never overtly supporting the Order, Andromeda had done her fair share for them, trained as a Healer as she was.

He wasn't sure if Tonks had told her mother about Sirius. He doubted that would be the case, as even though she was quite clumsy, Tonks did take her duties seriously. So it remained to be seen as to how to broach to Andromeda the topics of Sirius' innocence as well as the help that Sirius so clearly needed.

He was sure the other Order members had noticed as well. And as the year had gone by, Sirius' spts with Snape were becoming more and more commonplace and were increasing in intensity.

Remus shook his head at that. It was very clear to him that Snape was deliberately taunting and provoking Sirius in the hope that he would do something stupid. And as it turned out, every time such a provocation occurred, Sirius obliged to respond. With the effect of the nightly nightmares now in full effect, it was getting easier to trip up Sirius, something that should have been nipped in the bud in the first place.

But it never stopped. Dumbledore might have had a word or two with both of them because the continuous baiting had stopped. Subtle saracastic, sneering and caustic messages were the order of the day for both parties involved.

Remus knew he would have to talk to Andromeda soon.

And for that he would have to talk to Tonks.

He groaned. He knew about Tonks' fascination and crush on him.

If his guess was correct, then he was sure that all the Order members, at least the ones that attended the meeting regularly knew about it.

Which meant that Sirius would have also known about it.

And yet hadn't said a word.

Something was definitely off about him.

Shaking his head and bringing himself to the present, Remus ran a tired hand through his hair.

There were so many signs that he should have seen. So many little things that pointed to the fact that there was something with Sirius, good or bad, and yet he hadn't taken the time to delve deeper into it.

He had so much to atone for.

And while that process would start by making sure that he continued on what Sirius had done, for the moment, he simply wanted to forget.

He looked at the clock on the wall that hung there right above the door, a simple one that yet retained its elegance. It featured both the time and the date and while at the moment he didn't need the date, he was sure he would need it in a couple of days, especially as he worked out from the muggle calendars when the next full moon was.

The clock read half past ten at night. Satisfied that it could be considered late, he walked over to the fridge and pulled out a can of beer.

It was all over in two simple motions.

The first move was to open the can.

And the second to knock back the contents in one go, even though he coughed along the way.

He repeated the procedure with a few more beers till his world went black.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: S**

He had found it.

Rather he had found them.

Two different topics that he had spent the better part of the year searching, he finally had some clarity about.

Neither of the two topics were what he had started off searching. They had evolved as he poured over tome after tome in the Black library.

It was an extensive library and he wasn't surprised that was the case. For a family that could trace its roots at least till to the Dark Ages, collection of so much information was not really surprising.

But what really surprised him was the topics that the books had contained.

A lot of it had made his stomach churn and had added new avenues for his nightmares to explore (which had not even remotely stopped but had only increased in intensity and creativity). But he had plodded through. His aim was clear. He was doing this for his godson, Harry, and he would pull through for him.

Failure was not an option.

Nor was leaving a single stone unturned.

And so he had read.

Book after book. Tome after tome.

Some in English. Those were the relatively easy ones to read, not content wise but language wise.

Some in old English. These were not entirely easy ones to read, but they could still be read and understood. And that was the key.

Some in Latin. Those were the worst. He knew only rudimentary Latin, having had that language drilled into him during childhood. The Blacks considered Latin to be superior to all languages and thus at the very least made sure that their children knew the basics of the language.

It terms of the contents of the books, none of the three was significantly darker than the other two.

Of course that only stated the relative differences in the darkness of the contents.

Not the absolute measure.

Compared to the books of today though, the works were much much darker. Sirius was sure that if any modern day person saw another reading the older works, then they were sure to be classified as dark.

He had found the books in Latin to be particularly informative, once he had managed to decipher the contents.

What had plagued him from the start of Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts was how Voldemort had managed to to survive the supposed rebound of the Killing Curse.

It simply didn't make sense.

But then neither did the fact of someone surviving the Killing Curse make any sense.

He had questioned Dumbledore on it and had gotten an answer which he wasn't convinced with.

Dumbledore had simply told him that Voldemort had dabbled too much in the Dark Arts and had probably found a ritual that allowed him to survive. And that it was probably Lily's sacrifice that had saved young Harry.

The first part, Sirius agreed with, though he was put off Dumbledore for refusing to elaborate on the matter. It irritated him to no end that the Headmaster seemed to be very reluctant to give direct answers when forced to face tough questions. In many cases he would try to wriggle his way out of it while trying to placate the other party as much as possible.

Sirius had no doubts about where Dumbledore stood on the issue of light versus dark. Dumbledore was a champion for the light through and through. That much Sirius was dead certain. What he didn't know for certain was why the old Headmaster felt the need to keep so many secrets. He also wasn't sure if he had any ulterior motives, though his gut instinct (combined with what he had gotten from his Animagus form) pointed to the fact that he didn't have one.

But the keeping of secrets and the keeping of people in the dark was, to Sirius, and Sirius was sure Harry would agree, extremely annoying. It spoke of an attitude of not trusting one's team members.

Then again, Sirius had to admit, the last time round, before Harry had somehow managed to stop that lunatic, it was obvious that there was a leak.

This line of thought had led Sirius nowhere, as it seemed that he kept going around in circles.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He decided to play the same game as Dumbledore.

He would trust Dumbledore with his life, but he wouldn't trust him with additional knowledge.

Coming back to the problem of Harry surviving the Killing Curse, he sensed that there must be some explanation. Contrary to popular belief, Sirius Black was not the most prodigious talent in school. That was the realm of two of his brothers in all but blood - James Potter and Remus Lupin. Sirius Black simply had the talent for grasping a concept relatively quickly, but he often needed to back that up with some amount of work.

And if there was to be an explanation, then Sirius Black would find that explanation. Like a dog that knows there is a bone hidden somewhere underneath and dig for it, he too would unearth the most probable and most plausible explanation for it.

It was at this point that he had come across another interesting book in the library. It was the Black family Grimoire, and as was expected of such books, it was heavily warded and could in fact only be seen by the Lord and Lady of the House. None of the others would even know about the book, including the child who was the Scion and heir-apparent of the House. Once the mantle of Lordship of the House had been passed to the heir, they would gain knowledge of it through the ancestral magic of the Black family. The one before would retain the knowledge of the Grimoire to pass on enough information so that the new Lord wouldn't have to start from scratch, before the previous Lord forgot it forever.

Of course in most situations, the Lord of the House remained the Lord of the House till the end of his days. However, some of the smarter ones added in their own notes into the first couple of pages of the Grimoire to serve as notes to be read by the inheritor on how to use the book. But that instruction too was limited.

The Grimoire turned out to be a fascinating piece of work. It was the only book in the entire library that could detect the language that the Lord of the House was most comfortable in and convert its contents to that language. This feature had surprisingly been added quite early on into the Grimoire and for which Sirius was immensely thankful.

The Grimoire was an interesting read as well. Not only did it chart the family tree, right from the time of the family's existence. Consequently it listed every single branch that had ever stemmed from the first Black family members.

Sirius spent a fair amount of time going over the genealogy of his family. He wasn't sure if it would still hold true, but he would be able to exert his influence on some of the more distant members of the Black family as well. He briefly wondered if this included Bellatrix and Narcissa as well. But then a note at the bottom of the page caught his eye and only served to increase his puzzlement as he read it.

The note itself was very simple, telling him that it would be possible, but the influence he would be able to exert would be minimal as the magic of the houses into which Bellatrix and Narcissa were married would exert their own influence as well and which would be a lot stronger than his.

He shuddered as he thought of what he had just seen. It was quite simply a way to control the entire House of Black and to quash any and all rebellion that arose from within. It was the kind of power he wished no one would have for one never knew when it would be abused.

But he was sorely tempted to use it on Bellatrix at least, not to prove a point or anything, but just to stop her from carrying out her madness. He knew that her time in Azkaban only further cemented her addled and twisted way of thinking and he was sure that if she weren't stopped, it would only lead to more untold and unspeakable disaster. As the Head of her maiden House he hoped he could do something about it, but it seemed like there was nothing he could do.

Even if he did try to influence her via Black magic (he chuckled to himself at his poor joke), she would feel nothing more than the sort of constant buzzing one hears when a fly or bee keeps flying around.

No, unfortunately, that avenue, to stop Bellatrix was closed.

He got back to looking through the family tree. He smirked as he imagined the reactions of many other families today if he told them they were related to the Blacks. But that smirk quickly turned into a grimace as he could immediately see that the same would also hold true for unsavoury houses that he did not want to be associated with. The Malfoys and the Lestranges were bad enough. He didn't need to know any more families, particularly those that were ardent supporters of Voldemort's cause. It would only make him wonder even longer how tha Black family had fallen from grace.

One name on the list caught his attention. He had never heard the person talk about it and as they were no more, he couldn't hope to hear and confirm about it either. It surprised him.

But then he was surprised that he was surprised.

He should have seen this coming a long time ago.

He was related to James! He was related by blood to the Potters!

It seemed that James' grandmother had been a Black who had stood up against the family and had married a Potter. The Potters and the Blacks were not strictly enemies. No two pureblood families could not openly be enemies. After all they were the minority and needed the support of each other. But it was rather well known that the minute one entered a room the other was present in, the temperature of the room would plummet and that was definitely not because either of them had performed a Glacius charm.

Sirius noted with interest that James' grandmother, Saiph Potter nee Black, had not been struck off the family tree, unlike Andromeda Tonks nee Black who had been cast out of the family for marrying a muggle-born. The only reason Sirius could think of and what he was sure was the reason was that the Potters were a pureblood family. And as Saiph had still married a pureblood, thereby preserving the status of the family, she was not thrown out. He highly doubted that she got any meaningful and well-intentioned gifts for her wedding from the Blacks.

Sirius tried to remember her, but he kept drawing a blank. He supposed that she had passed away before he had really gotten to know James and had started to hang around with him at his family home. But he was able to recall the stories that James told of her, of how he loved spending time with her and how she would always spoil him rotten.

It seemed that the first Black to team up with a Potter had had a gala time of it.

Something the second Black to team up with a Potter could easily picture and agree with.

Sirius continued going through the Grimoire. He was going about it rather quickly at the moment, though he planned to revisit the book as many times as needed in order to understand as much as he could from it.

Flipping through he saw a spell that was very pictorial and had been colour coded. Where the rest of the spells had been depicted in plain black or dark blue ink, this spell alone had been coloured in red which he supposed caused him to notice the spell in the first place.

Reading through it in detail brought only a frown to his place. It was a very strange spell to have and the conditions for it were exceedingly difficult to occur.

The spell filled him with a lot of apprehension. It was a disturbing piece of magic.

It was also perhaps the kind of spell that explained to Sirius why his last name was that.

For, the spell though written in red ink, was of the darkest black


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Al**

It hadn't gone well.

Sure, the boy had shouted and screamed and destroyed a fair bit of his office. If he had not done then Albus would have been very surprised.

But he was sure that it hadn't gone well.

Actually, that wasn't true.

It wasn't that it hadn't gone well.

It was that he had handled it poorly.

That greatly puzzled the silver bearded Headmaster of Hogwarts. He generally handled issues fairly well, but in this case he didn't feel like he had done a good enough job.

Perhaps the years of keeping secrets and trusting nobody but himself with the information and to come through at the right time was taking its toll on him.

He didn't need to think very much to realize when was the last time he had trusted anyone completely.

Of a time when he had not kept any secrets.

He couldn't decide if he wanted to forget the episode to relieve him of the pain it had caused or if he wanted to keep remembering it so that it would always serve as a lesson for him to never make a mistake of that size.

Sharing those secrets had literally costed the lives of numerous people.

True, they didn't die by the hand of Albus Dumbledore. In fact, he would never condone killing people, perhaps not even in self-defence. But he still felt that he had blood on his hands. Blood that no matter how hard he tried, he would not be able to wash off his hands.

Unlike some of his other memories which he extracted from his mind and placed them in vials, this particular memory and the ones related to it where always within his brain and surrounded by the strongest Occlumency shields and defences that he could muster.

While he had confidence that no one would and no one would be able to break into his trusted vaults at Hogwarts, it was not a chance he was willing to take. If it was something he had learned over the years, and particularly from Tom (especially his follies) it was that one should never assume to be the only one who knows it all.

No, Albus would not make that mistake.

He sat back in his chair and reclined the seat, thinking deeply on the events that had recently unfolded. The death of Sirius was a tragedy and a disaster.

And Albus felt responsible for it.

He should have tried harder to convince Harry about the need to take the Occlumency classes with more seriousness.

He should have arranged for an alternative to Severus to teach Harry the class in the first place. Having put the two together given their history was just asking for trouble and zero progress. Which was exactly what had happened.

He should have spoken to Harry and told him the reason why he had been avoiding him the whole year.

He should have tried to let Sirius be free at times instead of caging him up worse than a wild animal.

He should have spoken more to Sirius to understand the man's psyche. Having spent a dozen years in captivity with just dementors for company was bound to have affected him than he was letting on and Albus had just let him be without getting him checked.

The irony was not lost on Albus that while he hated dementors, he had done absolutely nothing to recuperate people who had been exposed to their influence for extended periods of time.

There were so many things that he should have done, but he hadn't.

He had the blood of yet another innocent soul on his hands.

He was sure that he had lost the confidence of young Harry as well. It didn't seem so at the moment, but he knew that very soon hard questions would be asked of him and it could fall either way.

In his race to always have the big picture in mind, he had forgotten that what he was dealing with were actual people with emotions, thoughts and dreams of their own.

Fawkes trilled softly in the corner, his song helping to massage some of the heaviness that seemed to have settled on the Headmaster. Dumbledore said nothing, but he mentally thanked the phoenix.

Unlike what was the common belief, a phoenix was a symbol of eternity, not a symbol of eternal purity. Like their birth and death cycles, the phoenix too was involved at some level in construction and destruction. At least that was what Dumbledore told himself. He could see no other reason as to why Tom should have gotten a wand that contained Fawkes' tail feather if phoenixes were truly the creatures of the light.

Nevertheless, Fawkes had proven himself to be quite adept at discerning the moods of the people around him and singing accordingly to lift up their spirits. Albus too needed the song of the phoenix at the moment to pull himself together.

The question that kept running through his mind though was whether this would be the last time he needed such a help from Fawkes.

Or if this was merely one of many in the near future.

Shaking away that line of thought, the silver bearded Headmaster focused on one of his students, a particularly difficult one he had had to deal with and one he was sure he would have greater problems with the coming school year.

Young Mr. Malfoy had been brought to the school with an air of everything being handed to him on a silver platter which had not happened as far as the lad would have liked. Snape had further pandered to him, which had only served to increase the boy's ego and sense of entitlement. And now the unchecked actions would lead to a heavy price.

The price that Tom would demand of young Draco for the failure of his father, Lucius.

His death.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: H**

He couldn't sleep.

Even after the talks with Luna and Nearly Headless Nick back at Hogwarts, he had no closure.

Or rather he was struggling for closure.

In his heart of hearts he knew that he wasn't responsible for Sirius' death, but his mind still refused to accept it.

To him it all boiled down to the fact that he should have concentrated on his Occlumency better.

He should have listened to Hermione. She had never steered him wrong till date and yet he had ignored her.

Granted, he had followed her instructions and explored every possible avenue before setting off.

But he still felt that he could have done things better.

Hindsight was always perfect, wasn't it?

His thoughts came to dwell on Occlumency, and with that on the one person who was supposed to have helped him through it.

And yet it was the one person who in his opinion had only made it worse.

Now, more than ever, he hated Severus Snape.

To him, Snape had never qualified for the honorific of Professor. To him, a Professor was one who taught. Not one who treated his students with absolute contempt on the basis of an old school rivalry. Not one who was never going to let go of the past and see things as they were instead of viewing them through his own set of tinted glasses.

Snape could have told him something, anything really, that he would look into the problem.

But all that had been said by that vile excuse of a human being was that if he wanted gibberish spoken to him, he would ask it.

Not a reply to show that the message within had been understood and would be attended to.

And what had all that resulted in?

A bizarre plan to get rid of Umbridge, at least temporarily.

A half-baked plan to travel to the Ministry in London by Thestrals in the late evening.

And the silliest of them all - the plan of six school children taking on Voldemort and his finest.

It had very nearly been the end of them all.

He had seen how affected Ron had become when the brains attacked him.

He had had one heart-stopping moment as he saw Luna crumple and fall to the ground.

He had had an even bigger nerve racking moment when he saw Hermione go down to the silent purple curse cast by Dolohov.

And finally in the end, he had seen Sirius fall through the Veil.

Tears streamed down his eyes as he remembered how Remus had to restrain him from following Sirius through that archway. The reason that was conveyed to him later on. That a trip through the Veil meant instant death.

He shuddered involuntarily as he imagined each of his friends from that night's adventures not making it through the night. He wasn't naive enough to think that they would have survived for any longer and it caused a fresh round of shudders and tears. He knew that if he had lost even one of them, he would have gone pretty much insane.

His thoughts came to dwell on the archway itself. He didn't understand how a portal that stood in the middle of the dais could be death's agent. Was the Veil discovered? Was it invented? If it was the former, how did people know that falling through it meant that you ceased existing? If it was invented, then who would be vile enough to invent such a thing? And for what purpose was it invented?

In either case, why was it kept on the dais where there was a great possibility that anyone could fall through it accidentally.

It seemed that the wizarding world lacked basic common sense.

And that rerouted his thoughts in a different direction.

For one whole bloody year, the Ministry had slandered him and the Ministry had persecuted him. All because they did not want to face reality, when there were overwhelming signs that pointed to the very fact. When they should have taken action against Voldemort and should have nipped the problem in the bud, they gave him one whole year to organize his cause. They buried their heads in the sand like ostriches and wished the problem away, not doing a single thing about it.

That last statement wasn't strictly true, Harry thought. They did do something about it.

They went after the only two voices that kept repeating that Voldemort was back.

Idly Harry wondered if he could sue the Ministry for libel, defamation and assassination of character. Not that he wanted to profit off it, but to let the bloody idiots know that they had messed up big time.

Oh, how he wanted to go after Cornelius Fudge and make sure Fudge got his comeuppance.

He took a deep breath and let it out. The rational part of his brain, which spoke to him in Hermione's voice, told him that doing such a thing would only cause the faction against Voldemort to be splintered even further. It would hand an even bigger advantage to Voldemort, something that Harry wanted to avoid at all costs.

Harry had no doubts that Fudge's time in office was limited. Now that there was irrefutable proof that Voldemort was indeed back and that Dumbleddore and he had indeed been telling the truth, he had no doubt that the wizarding population would turn its collective ire on Fudge and would bay for his head, while proclaiming the Headmaster and himself to be the heroes and the champions of the light and all such drivel.

The Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore.

Harry felt a twinge of shame as he remembered his reactions in the Headmaster's office and his stoicism through the havoc that Harry caused. He really needed to have better control of his emotions. And it was something that he should have been doing for a while now, but didn't seem to have had any control over.

He remembered Dumbledore telling him about the prophecy and Harry's shock on hearing it and being told that he was destined to meet Voldemort in battle and possibly defeat him.

And the supposed power that he, Harry, had over Voldemort would be the power of love.

The shock of the events of the evening and that from the prophecy had caused him to sit still when the Headmaster had started mentioning the details. Knowing Harry, Dumbledore had urged him to not withhold the information from his closest friends, but to instead share the burden with them as he would need all the help and support that he could possibly get.

Harry had said nothing, but just nodded absent-mindedly.

And had been forced to return to the Dursleys.

That was another topic he did not want to think about.

Instead he concentrated on what Dumbledore had told him and wanted to examine the whole episode in greater detail.

He wished he had a pensieve like the Headmaster's. The first time Dumbledore had mentioned it, he hadn't been able to understand the feeling of having too many thoughts in his head and wanting to separate them out. But now he could understand, and now more than ever he wanted a pensieve and a couple of vials.

He would be able to relive the limited time he had with Sirius.

He would be able to look at things more objectively and make more sense of things.

Even as these new thoughts whirled about in his head, new questions also arose that he definitely wanted answers to.

But this time round he wanted to approach it in a more systematic manner.

The Dursleys had not locked up his trunk this time round. It wasn't out of compassion or anything, but more from a practical standpoint.

With the fifth year over, the Dursleys realized that the boy could now leave school and not have his wand snapped. While there was still some restriction on what he could and couldn't do, the punishment would be a lot less severe than the previous years.

And they knew if they pushed too far, the boy could use magic on them and they would be powerless.

The trunk, was in typical Harry style disorganized, with everything all over the place. He rummaged through the mess looking for one particular item. Something that he had never used, but had tried to keep as safe as possible knowing that a time might come in the future when it would prove to be useful.

He hand brushed against a rather sharp object and he jerked his hand out of the trunk, only to see a long cut on his forefinger. Thankfully though, the cut didn't seem to be too deep. While he could have used his wand to heal, Harry decided to do it the ordinary way (there was no point testing the boundaries of the restrictions on the usage of magic).

It took him some time, wanting to be as thorough as possible in cleaning and ensuring that nothing had gotten into the finger (while the trunk was disorganized, he always knew the kind of stuff that he had within and so knew that it was highly unlikely that there would be anything that could enter into his finger, but hey, the new Harry from the post Sirius episode was going to be more cautious than before), he returned to his search. Grabbing a pair of gloves from his trunk, he put them on this time round before plunging into the depths of his trunk in his search.

He managed to locate the item that had caused the cut and he very nearly dropped the very same object.

It was the communication mirror that Sirius had given him.

A fresh round of tears streamed down his face once again as he realized that had he remembered and used this in the first place, then the whole Ministry fiasco could have been avoided.

The flow of tears though was suddenly stopped as a rather outlandish idea crept into his brain.

Gripping the mirror extremely tightly, and bringing it as close as possible to his face, he whispered his godfather's name.

And waited.

He had heard Remus remark once that Sirius carried the mirror everywhere so that he would be reachable to Harry any time he needed.

And Harry needed him now more than ever before.

And waited.

He knew that those who were no longer in this plane of existence could not be reached by ordinary or conventional means. But then again, the mirrors had been developed by the Marauders and were unconventional themselves. There must be no reason for it to not work.

And waited.

Pain and gloom that had temporarily been kept at bay by hope now returned, at twice its original strength as hope was forced to acknowledge defeat and make a hasty retreat.

Anger joined the mix of emotions and Harry very nearly, in a moment of utter rage, threw the mirror against the wall. Only the rational part of his brain, which continued to speak in Hermione's voice, told him that doing such a thing would be stupid and it would be something he would regret later on.

And so he held on to the mirror. Still gripping it tightly as emotions that he had kept suppressed for a period of time came bursting out. Again, not wanting to take a chance with using magic (for the Silencio charm), he turned willed himself to not make a sound as he let the tears pour on to the floor.

A part of his mind warned him that his uncle and aunt wouldn't be too happy to see water stains on the floor, but the larger part of his brain simply overrode that. At the moment nothing mattered to him.

Finally, the tears subsided and Harry took a deep breath once again so that he could focus on what he had originally wanted to do.

He pulled out the planner, the one Hermione had given him a couple of years ago and the one that would magically shout "if you have dotted your i's and crossed your t's, then you are free to be". He had never felt the need to use it when it was first given to him, but he felt that now was as good a time as ever that he use it.

Opting for a conventional pen instead of that painful instrument that he had to use for school work, he opened the book to the first couple of pages and began to write his thoughts and the questions that he had.

He didn't filter them, just wrote them down as they came.

Actually, that wasn't true.

Among the list of questions that he had, the one on why the Chudley Cannons always managed to finish last in a season, while a good question and probably a difficult one as well, was perhaps not best suited to the task on hand.

And so focusing on pointers and questions relevant to what he had learned over the years, he began to write.

He contemplated writing down the prophecy, for he was sure that Hermione and Ron (well, Hermione mainly) would want to read it and analyse every single word. However, he also knew that Dumbledore had deliberately kept the knowledge of the prophecy and its contents in its entirety away from public eye in general and Voldemort in particular for a reason.

It would be sheer madness then to write it down some place where it could be easily discovered. But then again, if he could do something like the Marauders Map, then perhaps he could hide the whole thing up.

In fact, he was going to talk to Remus (while Hermione was around, definitely!) to find out how they managed to put those charms on the Map.

1\. Why did Dumbledore not let me know beforehand about this connection till after the Department of Mysteries disaster?

2\. How accurate are these prophecies? I know Trelawney got one spot on the day I met Sirius and when Wormtail escaped, but that was a rather straightforward one. This prophecy is vague.

3\. Are we looking at the wording of the prophecy correctly? How did Dumbledore come to the conclusion that power of love was the one that I had and Voldemort did not?

4\. How did I survive the Killing Curse? Since there was nobody but me at the site (as both Dumbledore and Hagrid claimed), then how did Dumbledore come to the conclusion that he did?

5\. How did Voldemort get hold of his old wand?

6\. Why does Dumbledore trust Snape so much?

On and on, Harry wrote till he had about two dozen questions, most of it focusing on the actions of Dumbledore, the character of Snape and the prowess of Voldemeort

That was the easy part. Now he had to get the answers.

And he knew that getting those, particularly from Dumbledore, was going to be an extremely hard task.

Perhaps Hermione would have a solution for the same. She always seemed to be the one who had practical and feasible ideas.

With a start, Harry realized that he had thought of Hermione a lot over the last couple of days. He realized that he depended on her intelligence to carry the trio through, especially when faced with difficult situations. Granted, she had a tendency to panic at times, but those had become fewer and fewer over the course of their adventures over the years.

Although he knew that Hermione would never abandon him, even if he did seem to be a marked man now, a part of him was absolutely terrified that she would and that he would be on his own. He knew that he wouldn't be able to survive without her (while it may have sounded cheesy to his ears, Harry was sure that he meant it in the literal sense and not in the romantic sense the line was often associated with) and it would take him a very long time for him to rebound from that loss.

His thoughts then shifted towards the third member of the trio, the one who he had often seen as his brother - Ron Weasley. The relationship between them had never really gone back to where they were before the start of the fourth year. While Ron might not have realized that, Harry had. In fact it was Harry who had been deliberately keeping Ron at an arm's length away from the original level of friendship that they had.

Ron's lack of trust in him when he refused to believe that Harry had not put his name into the Goblet had broken something within Harry, something that he wasn't sure would ever get healed properly. The pain that he had felt on being abandoned by the one he thought of his brother was too much to bear, and in order to prevent such a situation from ever happening again, Harry did the only thing he could think of - keeping Ron at a distance.

True, Ron had stood by his side this year the entire time and had tried to protect Harry as much as possible using his Prefect status. While Harry was extremely grateful to Ron for that, it still didn't dim the fear within - when Mount Weasley would erupt again and burn everything around him.

He knew it wasn't fair to Ron, but he reasoned to himself that Ron hadn't been fair to him as well. While it wasn't tit for tat, it was a defensive mechanism that had been ingrained into him from his younger days.

In contrast though, Hermione had always stood by him, come rain or sunshine. She had brushed aside insults and taunts and all the nonsense after the Skeeter article and had never once wavered in her support of Harry.

And though, till date Harry had ended up taking Ron's side in the arguments between Ron and Hermione, he knew that he wouldn't do that in the future.

Hermione had begun to mean too much to him.

Startled, he wondered where these feelings were coming from. The whole thing seemed new to him. He never seemed to have felt anything like this when he thought of Cho. He supposed he had had a crush on her, mainly because of her looks and the fact that she was a decent Quidditch player. But apart from theat he hardly knew her, not even the couple of times that he had gone out with her had yielded him any more common ground between the two of them.

No what he felt for Cho was quite simply just a crush.

What he felt for Hermione though was something stronger, though he had no idea what to label it as. And that scared him.

Wanting to change that line of thought, Harry shook his head hoping that the movement would dispel that thread. He thought about the other boys in his dorm, and posited the question on who he could trust.

Thankfully for him there were only a few guys in his year in Gryffindor and it hopefully wouldn't take too long to work through it. He was sure he had already made up his mind, but he still decided to go through the exercise to ensure that he didn't miss anything and it was something else that could occupy his mind and concentration for a bit.

Seamus, he had always liked the chap, but over the past year he had been disappointed in him. He trusted the articles in The Daily Prophet and what his mother told him, and didn't seem to be capable of thinking on his own. His open questioning the first night of term had been a major sore point for Harry and the cold war that followed was not one he would forget in a hurry.

No, while Seamus maybe a true Gryffindor, he still needed to be able to think for himself. Till then Harry doubted he would ever trust the boy more than as an acquaintance.

Dean followed Seamus' lead quite often. It didn't surprise Harry as Dean was muggle-born and just like how Harry had followed Ron for most of the time (at least in terms of information in the wizarding world), Dean had followed Seamus.

But he did have his own views and did look at things objectively, which to Harry was a good thing. In case he needed people to talk to, he would very much prefer to talk to ones that were capable of thinking clearly. He resolved to try and get to know Dean better though he sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to lean too much on Dean as it would probably make Dean and his family too a very big target.

That left for the last, but certainly not the least, especially after his fortitude at the Department of Mysteries, Mr. Neville Longbottom.

Correction, he should probably say Heir Longbottom or Scion Longbottom. For that was what Harry had learnt Neville's actual designation was.

In typical Neville fashion, he had not stated any of this, preferring to underplay his importance unlike some other person that Harry knew.

No, he would not go there. He knew where that thought would eventually lead him to.

And it was not something he was looking forward to.

He needed to focus on what he was doing now.

And that was analysing the change in Neville Longbottom.

From the timid and shy first year, to one of the most courageous and firm supporters of Harry, Neville had come a long way. He was more confident now, more assured in himself and with most of the people around him.

Granted, he still could fall back to the old Neville, especially if he encountered someone like Snape whose two favourite targets seemed to be Harry and Neville.

Other than that though, Neville had been dependable and could be trusted.

Harry sat up straighter. A new idea had just struck him, but he was unsure of how he could go about exploring it. Perhaps Hermione would know? He wasn't sure though. He knew that she knew about many things in the wizarding world, but he also knew that she didn't know many things in the wizarding world.

After all, she was a first generation witch and for her to know everything about literally another people in the short period of time that she had spent in their midst was pretty much impossible.

No, he would need to find some other source of information for this. Of course, he would bounce this idea off Hermione as well. He wanted to know her opinion and get her viewpoint and then use that to make further decisions.

He wanted to find out about his family tree and, as cliche and fantastical it may have sounded to him, he wanted to know if Potter was an old enough House that it had a list of evergreen allies as well.

He had a strong feeling that the Longbottoms and the Potters, assuming the Potters had roots stretching sufficiently far back, were often allied together.

He had no illusions that the two Houses were all the time totally for the light.

No, Harry Potter no longer believed that the world was divided into light and dark.

Or white and black.

It was all grey. The only question was, towards which side of grey did each family lean.

And he to find a way to find out.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Ne**

He really enjoyed his long baths. Especially after the workouts he had, it always helped him relax and provided much relief to his aching muscles.

He made a note to thank the elf Topsy, the one that had been assigned to look after his needs. Topsy had been with Neville pretty much from the time of Neville's birth.

And he had always done his very best to ensure that young Master Neville was always taken care of.

His grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, was one formidable woman and she had always managed to put fear into Neville's heart whenever he heard her call out his name.

So it was highly unlikely that Neville would ever approach her to read him a bedtime story. The one person he knew he could trust in that matter, to always be at his side was Topsy.

And Topsy always delivered.

Topsy ensured that Neville always got two stories at bedtime. One from the book that Neville always kept by his bedside, and another that Topsy conjured up on the spot based on incidents from his life, mixing into it the history of the elves.

While Neville was a fan of both stories in general, the second one was the one he looked forward to more, because he had no idea what it would be about and it would always be something that the young boy was not used to.

Finishing his recollections, Neville got out of the tub. The bath had served its purpose and the muscles that had screamed in protest when Neville pushed himself at the greenhouse, now seemed to have been sated. But Neville wasn't fooled. He knew this was but a temporary lull in the pain and that it would return once again in the morning. But he would be ready for it.

Neville sighed. It seemed that every time that he exerted himself at the greenhouse, he became very tired. In other words, he seemed to be woefully out of shape.

And Neville didn't like that one bit.

He didn't fancy becoming an Auror. It had already claimed his parents, and he had no intention of joining a force where danger was just a spell away.

But he could learn from the Aurors. The way they kept fit and the way they fought.

If there was one thing that the Department of Mysteries episode had taught it, it was that he was still woefully under-prepared to take on the forces of evil.

He walked over to his bed where Topsy had once again anticipated his needs and had set out clothing suitable for the task.

But Neville barely glanced at it. Not because he wasn't grateful to the elf or thought that the elf was beneath him, but because he was still lost in the thoughts of the events right after his OWLs.

He was proud of his decision to go with Harry. He had no idea what had propelled him to do it, but at that time it seemed like the right thing to do. Even now, he strongly felt it was the correct thing to have done, but perhaps he would have exercised more caution. Adrenaline had fuelled most of his decision making and while it had ensured he had come out alive and more importantly had not allowed the dark side a victory, he knew he couldn't keep relying on that.

No. He needed to figure out a way to keep calm and still look at problems logically and find solutions to them instead of rushing at them.

He mused that perhaps it was time to do something that he had loathed extensively. But which he was sure would prove to be important to stay alive.

He would begin to exercise.

He grimaced at the very thought. It wasn't something that he was looking forward to, but he knew that part of the reason that Harry was quite powerful was because of the hard drills that he had had to put in for Quidditch. Ginny seemed to be in a similar mould and he had seen her many a time running around the black lake. It wasn't surprising as she was the reserve chaser and seeker and he knew that she wanted to play on the main team and so was willing to push herself more. Ron Weasley on the other hand, had gone through the drills, but not with the same intensity. He supposed that that too would change after the Ministry debacle.

Hermione was in a league of her own. He had not seen her training like the others but he was sure that pounding up and down seven flights of stairs with a bag full of heavy books (there was after all a limit to how light you could make your bag) would have helped her build muscle and stamina as well.

Add to that her rather extensive knowledge of spells and he knew that she knew how to mix everything up so that she spent minimal energy. And even if she didn't know the details of this approach, he was sure that given some more time, she would perfect that as well.

Which left only Luna Lovegood to be analysed. Well, analyse he strengths and weaknesses, Neville told himself as he blushed slightly.

She had looked very attractive right from the first time that Neville had met her, but in typical Neville fashion, he had not said anything to her till date.

He had heard rumours about her. About how she was Loony. At first, to his shame, he had given some credence to these rumours. But it slowly dawned on him that the rumours were flying about just because Luna refused to abide by the normal societal rules. And just because somehow had the tendency to act differently did not mean they were loony.

In fact the more he got to interact with her, the better he came to know her. And he could see clearly, that beneath that quirkiness was someone who was very intelligent and yet at the same time very desperate to have friends, to be accepted for who she was, and to have fun.

And while he was not the best choice (the insecurity of the old Neville did come through from time to time), he could still be a good friend to her.

He was undecided if he should invite her over to his house. Not because he was worried about his grandmother's reaction nor because he was afraid Luna would read too much into it, but because having friends would only work once there was a common ground established. Otherwise the whole time would be awkward (although he was sure that Luna would deliberately keep doing or keep saying one thing or the other to prevent awkwardness from creeping in) and their friendship would have gone back by several steps.

No, the first step, Neville was very clear, was to write to Luna. He recollected that she had been hurt rather badly during the Ministry episode. While Neville himself had suffered a broken nose (his hand lightly traced its outline and he winced slightly from the pain that was still present), he knew that Luna's was far severe. He hoped that the course of medicines that Madam Pomphrey had prescribed for her had done the trick.

And that she was taking adequate rest. After all, most of the curses that struck them were rather dark in nature as was expected of a cowardly bunch like the Death Eaters.

Having decided on his course of action, he pulled a piece of parchment that he always kept on the table by his bedside, dipped his eagle quill (the only one that he possessed and the one he used only when he was at home) and began to write:

Dear Luna,

Hope this letter finds you well. I sincerely hope that the injuries that you sustained during our trip to the Ministry have healed properly. Please do take good care of yourself! You don't need me to tell you that some of the curses that the Death Eaters used was borderline dark, and as I am sure a Ravenclaw like you is well aware, the effect of most of the dark curses continue to remain well past the attack itself.

As for me, I am doing quite OK. My nose still seems to be a little tender, but I expect it to heal soon. Otherwise I am fine. I am thinking of starting up some physical exercises as well, not because I suddenly want to join the Quidditch team or anything, but because I realized that my stamina levels were quite poor during the fight. Had it lasted for another ten minutes perhaps, I am not sure I wouldn't have just keeled over and passed out or died. It opened my eyes to the fact that there is more to duelling than just the spell casting (and unlike what Lockhart taught us, there is no need for exaggerated movements and showmanship) and I want to be able to last longer in the next round.

You don't need me to tell you Luna. We both know that dark times are coming, and that we will need to up our games to help Harry and survive.

You can always contact me for any help or assistance or even if you just want a friend to talk with.

And if it is fine with you, I shall do the same.

Take care Luna! I hope to hear back from you soon!

Neville

There, that sounded quite good to Neville. A mix of caution, updates, opinions and offer of help and friendship. Now all he had to do (after sending the letter out) was to wait.

Just as he was about to call for Topsy, the elf popped into the room, leaving Neville bemused. As he was about to wonder if the elf had a telepathic connection to him, Topsy spoke

"Master Neville, Lady Augusta has requested you to join her for dinner this evening. She has asked that you meet her at the dining room no later than fifteen minutes from now. And your attire is to be on the formal side. They need not be the robes of the Scion of the House of Longbottom, but more formal than the ones that you are currently wearing."

Having said his piece and hearing no response, Topsy looked up to see that young Master Neville looked more confused than he had before Topsy had begun to speak.

Clearing his throat, Topsy brought the attention of his charge back on to him and asked him, "Is anything the matter, Master Neville? You seem to be totally confused?"

Neville opened and closed his mouth twice, before he could voice out the question that had taken him a couple of tries to frame. "Yes Topsy. I don't understand. Why the sudden air of formality in everything? Are we having some guests over?"

Topsy had to admit, the new version of his charge was handling things much better than what the older one would have. The older one would have been terrified at the thought of dinner in semi-formal attire with his grandmother and would have panicked and would have had to be calmed down with the use of a Calming Draught mixed into his drink of orange juice. The new one though, while still a little afraid, was a lot more calm. Actually the new one wasn't so much afraid as confused. It wasn't common for Lady Longbottom to call for this kind of an event and it would usually mean that the Longbottoms were having guests over, mostly purebloods, and most often than not, someone quite powerful and famous.

But that wasn't the case today. It was for something totally different.

And it was left to Topsy to explain it.

And boy, was he going to enjoy the expression on his charge's face at the end of it.

"No Master Neville. We aren't having anyone over. In fact, the part about the attire was my suggestion to Mistress" (at this, Neville scowled at Topsy, who said nothing but merely chuckled internally). "Fear not Master Neville. I am always on your side " (at which Neville's shoulders which he had tensed up visibly relaxed). "Your grandmother merely wishes to host a party of sorts on your successful duelling with the Death Eaters, and particularly with Bellatrix Lestrange (the last word Topsy practically spat out, with an expression on his face that made one shudder and remind themselves never to cross this particular elf)"

Topsy had been proved right. For the second time that evening, Neville opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. Well actually, he opened and closed his mouth half a dozen times before he managed to squeak out, "Oh! OK"

Topsy was about to leave when he spotted the letter on the bedside table. With a snap, the letter reappeared in his hands, rolled up (and tied up with a small bow).

"I shall send this to Miss Lovegood with one of the owls from the Owlery right away, if that is fine with you. Would you like the owl to wait there for a reply as well?" This time, Topsy did look up at Neville after he finished talking.

Neville, still a little too stunned to speak, nodded jerkily a couple of times.

With another snap of his fingers, the appropriate clothes for the dinner were laid out on the bed for Neville, who had not moved an inch.

"Time's a wasting, Master Neville"

And with another snap and a chuckle Topsy was out of the room, leaving Neville still bewildered but with only about seven minutes on the clock to reach the dining room.

Time was a wasting indeed!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Mn**

She wasn't planning to go to bed till she had finished marking the term papers. The OWLs wouldn't be marked by her, but they would finally come to her. For moderation if necessary.

That meant she wouldn't be able to look at the one paper that she really wanted to read through, Ms. Granger's. That strictly wasn't true. She was curious to see how Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley had done as well, along with some of the students from the other houses, like Ravenclaw's Ms. Patil, Hufflepuff's Ms. Bones and Slytherin's Ms. Greengrass. The girls were the best in their year, in that order, though the order would often switch between Ms. Bones and Ms. Greengrass.

Mr. Potter. She wasn't sure what to make of him. At least not fully. She knew he seemed to be a prodigy in Quidditch having effortlessly taken and maintained the position of Seeker in the Gryffindor team from his first year (she had had to convince Dumbledore a fair bit to allow Mr. Potter to be a part of the team). And that trouble always seemed to follow him through every single year of study at Hogwarts.

Her cheeks tinged pink in embarrassment as she realized how she had dismissed the claims of Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley on the Philosopher's Stone without investigating it further. In the end, they had been proven to be right.

Next came the Chamber of Secrets fiasco where Mr. Potter had been branded the Heir of Slytherin and had been shunned by most of the school. Again, she hadn't done anything to aid his cause. Her only defence (however weak it sounded) was that Mr. Potter seemed to be caught at the wrong place at the wrong time nearly every time that happened. The time her doubt had truly been removed from the mind had been when Ms. Granger had been petrified and it was something that she did not want to remember. Neither that nor the subsequent inaction by the staff to rescue Ms. Ginerva Weasley. The pinks of her cheeks intensified as she realized just how very nearly the teachers had condemned Ms. Weasley to her death by entrusting her rescue to that phony Lockhart as they waited for the Headmaster to rescue them from yet another impossible situation.

Thankfully Mr. Potter, aided by Mr. Weasley in flesh and Ms. Granger in spirit and brains, had figured out the location of the Chamber and had somehow returned with Ms. Weasley still alive. They had been very nearly killed, but they had managed to pull through and come out in one piece and kicking.

The staff meeting after that incident had been one that Minerva would not forget in a hurry. She didn't think she was capable of forgetting it even if she wanted to.

For the first time, most of the staff had seen how the normally twinkle-eyed and genial Headmaster could transform into the very version that had defeated Grindelwald, the version that exuded raw power. Dumbledore had ripped into every one of them for having the temerity to send Lockhart to rescue Ginerva Weasley, even if it was just a ploy to get him off their backs while they thought of something else. Dumbledore had been furious with himself as well, for having overlooked so many obvious clues about the Chamber and having to rely on a couple of second years to solve a fifty year old issue.

Needless to say, dinner for the next couple of nights at the staff table had been extremely subdued.

Third year brought the presence of the monsters on Hogwarts grounds itself. And where, as Deputy Headmistress, she should have ensured added protection for the students from the dementors, she did nothing, not even after Mr. Potter had been reported by Professor Lupin to have fainted on the train because the vile creatures had decided to arbitrarily attack him. She remembered, again with a sense of shame, of how she had prohibited Mr. Potter from visiting Hogsmeade, a privilege to those of third year and above. She had harped on a minor point, when she should have realized, after seeing the Dursleys in action all that many years ago, that Mr. Potter would never be able to get anything for himself from them.

No, she had denied him on a technicality, justifying it as a means to keep him safe, and yet not bothering to sit down and talk to him as his Head of House at Hogwarts. She winced as she recalled the line she delivered year after year to the incoming first years, telling them that the House was like a family, which automatically put the Heads of Houses at parental positions.

Yet, not once had she sat down and spoken to Mr. Potter and told him the hoopla surrounding Sirius Black. No, he had had to piece that information from multiple sources, have a confrontation with the man himself and learn that he had never betrayed his parents. Minerva herself had learned of the truth only much later, but even then she realized that she should have spoken to Mr. Potter about this. She hadn't.

While the incidents of Mr. Potter's first and second years saw her trying to understand her mistakes and what she would need to do to address them, the incidents of second and third years got her to begin to look at Dumbledore's actions critically as well. Oh, she was sure that he was still of the light and for the light, but it seemed like too many things kept going wrong.

Her thoughts turned now to the incidents in Mr. Potter's fourth and fifth years. Fourth year had been a real torture for him, having been put into the tournament against his will with no exit clause and then having to endure relentless taunts from the rest of the student population. Again, in her capacity as Deputy Headmistress she could have stepped in and done something about it, but again she had kept mum, this time reasoning to herself that it was just name-calling and that it didn't matter. Even when Ms. Granger had been hurt by the buboter pus hate mail, she had done nothing, especially when the rest of the school again laughed at her.

By now, Minerva's eyes were streaming with tears. She couldn't believe that she had let her charges down so easily and so many times. If she were a student, Minerva was sure that she would have docked the student a hundred points and assigned detentions with all of the staff to learn basic humanity. What she would have assigned, she would have to do herself, as repatriation for her mistakes from the past.

And then there was the matter of Moody. She had known Alastor Moody for so many years and she had still not managed to figure out that the person was an imposter? True, the acting had been excellent and had fooled Dumbledore as well. How did they both miss? It was at this point that she realized that Dumbledore too was human. He made mistakes from time to time, and yet because most of the wizarding world placed him on a pedestal and saw him as Merlin's heir, they ended up ignoring his faults. And because he was such a big man, the aftermath of his mistakes were that much more devastating.

She resolved to herself that she would keep a critical eye on Albus. No more of this blind hero worship. No more of this listening and obeying his views without first checking if it made sense.

She would redeem herself.

In her eyes, to a certain extent she did. When she stood up for Mr. Potter against the woman she first had to call colleague and then her superior - Dolores Umbridge. It was an open fact, right from her little diatribe at the Welcoming Feast that Umbridge was out to persecute Mr. Potter. Minerva was happy with herself that she had taken up the challenge of making Mr. Potter's ambition of becoming an Auror come true, something that Dolores had openly dared her to do.

Her spirits which had risen on the back of her defiance of Umbridge plummeted when she realized that she had offered no help to Mr. Potter during the entire blood quill saga. She should have been more aware of it, and the very fact that none of them came to her for help was a clear indicator to her of how much trust they had in her (it could be argued that the students were trying to protect their good teachers as much as the teachers were trying to safeguard the students, but that would only be a part of the reason for not coming to her, and she had no intention of lying to herself)

And then there was the Department of Mysteries disaster where Sirius Black had died. For someone who was technically innocent of all crimes (and yet not one person, herself including herself, had helped him to clear his name) to have died before he could truly taste freedom and before he got to spend meaningful time with his godson after having spent a dozen years in Azkaban.

Black's adult life had been miserable, and she felt guilty about having not done anything to have helped him out the few times she had seen him.

Perhaps a quick chat and a positive word or two might have helped.

But now she would never know.

The assignments, which she had stopped grading the moment she had started her contemplation, had gone nowhere. She noticed that she had underlined the title "Transfiguration" in a third year Ravenclaw's essay about a dozen times over the course of her thoughts, but had done nothing else. Sighing, she realized that her earlier rule of not going to bed before she had finished grading the assignments would not be feasible. She had cast the Tempus charm to find that it was well past two in the morning and she had to be up at around seven to attend to some of the other school work.

Knowing that the assignments were a lost cause, but still feeling quite miserable, she pulled out a piece of parchment from her personal supplies, wiped the quill clean of the red ink that she had used to grade the homework, dipped it in black ink and began to write:

Dear Harry (if I may address you that way),

I know it seems strange to receive a letter from me. Be rest assured that I am writing this in my individual capacity and not as your Deputy Headmistress of Head of Gryffindor.

First, I offer my deepest and most heartfelt condolences on the death of your godfather Sirius Black. I know how much he meant to you and how much you looked forward to spending time with him, and I am sorry that that has been cruelly taken away from you.

Second, I must apologize. I have had an epiphany and have realized that I have failed you repeatedly. Whether or not you realized that is something that only you will know and which I perhaps don't want to know the answer to. However, I would like to ask for a blanket apology for all the times I did not help you out. I have no explanations for the same, and as they say, it is only in hindsight that I realize how wrong I had been.

If there is anything that I can do for you, please let me know and I will try to help you out as much as I can. As long as it doesn't cross my mandates and responsibilities as Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor, this offer stands.

In case you need advanced instruction or just want someone to talk to, my office door is always open to you.

Take care Harry.

Minerva McGonagall

Yes, it sounded a little weird even to herself, but that was because she had let her strictness and ego define her till date. It was perhaps time to loosen up a bit and try to help those who needed it, like what she had intended to do when she first joined the teaching profession all those years ago.

She would redeem herself!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Mo**

He had long given up trying to get a good night's sleep.

It was a hard thing for him to do naturally. If your life's motto is "Constant Vigilance", then you would no doubt agree that sleeping is the single most worst time for you to practise that motto. You leave yourself utterly and totally exposed, not something that you want to do if you can help it.

Add to it that it had about two years back that he had been attacked when he had tried to get some shut-eye.

Good luck trying to convince him that he needed to get some sleep at the very least.

Moody stared out of the window in his room. Naturally the window was designed and charmed so that he had an excellent view of everything that happened outside, but nothing of the inside could even be seen. In fact, the window could not even be seen from the outside. All they saw was a continuous wall that ran from floor to ceiling with no openings.

And in the rare even that somehow a Muggle made his way into his room (which should be nigh impossible with all the security features that Moody had set up), he wouldn't be able to see a window either. To the visitor, it would be only all walls, with just the door to enter and leave the premises and no other means of moving about.

And this is how Moody liked it.

The intruder alarms were fairly advanced as well, containing a Caterwauling charm, a Stunner fired at the intruder from wands placed at different vantage points in the room among others. Yet, the last time round despite having all this he had still been attacked, in his own place.

And that had driven Moody crazy. As it was, the grizzled ex-Auror was already the very height of paranoia. But the Moody post the Triwizrd Tournament was about a hundred times more paranoid than before.

The paranoia had helped him survive all these years.

Hopefully it would suffice for at least a few more.

At least be enough to last until he had freed the wizarding world of the Death Eater scum.

He wrinkled his nose (or what was left of it) in disgust. He loathed them. With every fibre and cell in his body he hated the Death Eaters.

Them and their stupid leader. You Know Who. He Who Must Not Be Named. Voldemort

Moody could remember the panic and frenzy that abounded in the days of Grindelwald. When Dumbledore had finally taken him down, it seemed that the peace that had been won after a long fight would last for a long time.

But that hadn't been the case.

Voldemort had entered, and while the bulk of Grindelwald's attack wasn't focused on Britain, Voldemort's was. In fact, Voldemort seemed to be hell-bent on destroying as much as he could in Britain and had caused more damage in a couple of months than what Grindelwald had managed in years.

It had been as thought he had shifted from one nightmare to another.

And Moody had hated it.

Hated that he had had to fight everyday for his survival.

Hated that the bulk of the wizarding world was a spineless bunch of nincompoops who wouldn't stand up against tyrants.

Hated that he had to live in constant paranoia.

And it was this hate that fuelled him when he fought those lackeys of the self-proclaimed Dark Lords.

He had no compunctions in using harsher methods to deal with them. Oh, he wasn't dark, that he was sure of. He had not intention of ever using the Unforgivables or other darker curses for no reason.

But if it came down to saving himself and his group, then he cared little for the title of the curses.

And that was the fundamental difference between him and Albus.

He shook his head as he thought of his friend, Albus Dumbledore. The man was a definitely a great wizard and in general was a good role model for most people.

But in Moody's eyes, he lacked the guts to take difficult decisions when the situation demanded it.

Oh, Albus would willingly sacrifice himself if he thought it was the best course of action. It wasn't the question of a leader walking the talk. That Albus could do.

What Albus couldn't do was to meet force with force.

And to Moody that was about as fundamental a message as could be given to the enemies.

If you didn't meet force with force, then you would be perceived as weak. You would be seen as someone who would keep bowing and taking up the punishment as if you were a masochist. And the force would increase with time each time.

But if you did meet force with force, then it would put fear into the heart of the enemy. They would understand that if they fought you, there was a chance that they wouldn't be returning homes tonight, alive.

And that was usually a big deterrent in keeping them from muscling their way through.

Which was how Moody had developed such a fearsome reputation.

He was merciless in his battles. He knew this, his opponent knew this.

And while it made the duels all the more difficult, it also ensured that one party got the message loud and clear.

Moody continued to see through the window. Rather his original human eye did (he couldn't call it his good eye as the other eye was more useful), while the other eye, the one that had gotten him his name of "Mad-Eye" whizzed around, continuously scanning and checking on any possible threats.

The one mistake that he had done the last time was to remove the "mad eye" before going to sleep. And it had costed him big time.

This time round that wasn't going to happen. He would always be wearing it, always paying attention to its warnings as it looked through his surroundings.

Moody's thoughts drifted to the events at the Ministry and naturally that led to the thoughts of Sirius. He had always liked the Marauder, for he seemed to be the few, who even after being schooled at Dumbledore's institution, still retained enough pragmatism to realize when force was a necessity. The lad had not been trained directly by Moody, but that wasn't surprising as Moody took in a very select few, and usually those who already had a few years of experience under their belts. Sirius though had been barely out of Hogwarts for a couple of years when the whole fiasco occurred. And he had never gotten a chance to fulfil his dream of becoming an Auror.

He had seen the man in action, having had to do so as Black had been considered to be Voldemort's right hand man and consequently, was always studied for his techniques in case they had to take him down at some point later.

And while technique wasn't the best, it was good.

And it was effective.

Black had held off a fair few during the Ministry fiasco. Moody had been considering training him as well, in addition to working with Nymphadora Tonks (let her even try to get the drop on him just because he used her full name). While they had been good and effective, Black's skills were obviously rusty, the result of having been locked up for too long without having any practise.

And with the result that it often messed up one's sense of timing.

Often with fatalistic outcomes.

Just like what had happened to Black himself.

Moody shook his head. He had told people for years to remove that goddamn Veil from the dais. He had told them so many times, from the time he had had two normal human eyes, a full nose and two normal feet.

He had told them again and again, that it was a disaster just waiting to happen.

He had told them again and again, that if they wanted to perform public executions, they could then bring out the Veil to the room.

But no.

They had refused to listen to him. They had laughed at his suggestion and had sarcastically asked him if his paranoia was getting the better of him.

And now they had lost someone because of that mistake.

Oh, Moody wasn't sympathizing with Black. It had been Black's foolishness to play around, and that too with Bellatrix Lestrange of all people that had pushed him through the Veil.

No, Black had chosen the singularly worst point of time to joke around and with the stupidest person (with the exception of Voldemort) as well.

The result was that he was dead.

But that wasn't what was troubling Moody.

He knew Black thought himself to have pretty good showmanship and that all of what he had done on the dais near the Veil was part of that. One didn't need to look at Sirius to know where he was. His voice, sharp like a dog's bark could be heard around the room.

And so at any point of time, even if Moody had both eyes on his targets (ahead, behind or to his sides), he had always managed to pick up what Sirius was doing.

He had just finished putting down one of them, not permanently, but sufficiently strongly that they were down for the count, when he heard Potter scream.

Whirling around, he turned around just in time to see two things happening: Lupin racing down and preventing Potter from sprinting to his godfather, and Sirius falling through the Veil

The expression on Sirius' face though, perplexed Moody greatly.

Yes, there was surprise but it morphed gradually to resignation and just before he fell through, Moody could have sworn he had seen a small smile on Sirius' lips

_

A/N: Couldn't upload yesterday as the site was down when I checked it. Sorry about that.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Li**

I know my daughter is hiding something from me.

Actually, I need to rephrase that. She isn't hiding something from me. She simply isn't giving me the complete picture of the whole thing.

And I am sure that she knows that I know that she isn't giving me the complete picture.

She usually has this beautiful smile, that lights up her entire face when she greets us on the other side.

But this time, the smile was absent. She had a rather distracted look on her face and she waved at us only half heartedly. Every couple of seconds she would turn to look at that boy in glasses who was walking beside her, but with his head bowed. Harry, his name is if I am not mistaken.

On her other side, walked a tall gangly redhead. This has to be that Weasley boy, Ron, again if my memory serves me right.

It was not difficult to see that the three were walking as slow as possible without it being considered impolite. It was as if they didn't want to leave each other's company now that their holidays were over.

The slow pace was actually a very smart thing, assuming that a part of the planning into it had been deliberate.

Most would have missed it, but I am not most. I am her mother after all and these things are as apparent to me as stripes on a zebra. Kudos for them trying though.

My little girl, no scratch that, she was no longer little, my girl was wincing with every other step she took. It could be seen on her face, not easily, but if you knew what you were looking for, you would find it. And it seemed the other two were struggling slightly as well. It seems like my daughter has gotten into yet another adventure and this time she has been hurt grievously.

I know her. I know she will play it off as nothing. Play it off that it was a trick of the light and nothing else. Play it off by being extra springy in her steps. All the while biting her inner lip so that she doesn't cry out from the pain.

But I won't be fooled. I share a quick glance with my husband of so many years and see the same sentiment as mine written on his face.

We might not say anything until she says something but there is no doubt that we will not be fooled.

Stephen might not be the most articulate person around, but he is plenty smart when it comes to dealing with people, especially children and adolescents. And that is why he has been so successful treating the younger ones, while I take care of the adults.

We both notice Hermione giving Harry a hug, and then holding him at arms length and telling him something. I have no idea if the boy has even heard her, for his head still remains bowed and he didn't return Hermione's hug either.

With a handshake to the other boy, Hermione finally turned towards us. She had acknowledged us earlier, which had led me to remark on her strained smile, and so knew where we were waiting for her.

Well, we would have waited at the portal if we had been able to, but unfortunately as we were not magical, we had to wait just outside like fools, not knowing if the train had arrived or not.

I hated it. It may have been five years now done, but I still hated it.

Before you mistake me, let me categorically tell you that it is not magic that I hate nor is it the fact that my daughter is magical.

No, that was not the problem.

I hated the fact that we were effectively barred from the wizarding world. That seven years of her life would be spent in a world where we could not help her, not see her for major part of the year and could not share experiences with her.

It was literally the most brutal way to sever the bond between children and their parent. We see our eleven year old children enter the world and at the end, we meet a seventeen year old young adult who is as much a stranger to us as we are to them.

And I hate it.

I could fill several more pages with my rambling, but suffice to say that it infuriates me that there has been no effort made to even try and integrate the parents who are non-magical.

They send us a damn letter, one person shows up claiming to be the Headmistress of a school we have never even heard of and is at times condescending, and they expect us to send our flesh and blood to be under their supervision for seven years. Parent teacher meetings seem to be nonexistent, cultural programs seem to be foreign to them and the list goes on and on.

I will save my rambling for later.

My daughter has reached as has been the tradition in our family, it is Stephen who greets her first with his traditional bear hug.

He has never said it, but of the two of us, I reckon he missed her more.

Again, I saw the wince on Hermione's face and before she could help it, an audible groan escaped from her lips.

Stephen quickly realized what he had forgotten in his happiness in seeing his daughter and pulled out of the hug.

Next was my turn. And once again, family tradition was that I give her a hug as well, usually one that rivals in strength to Stephen's.

I will find out what it is that my daughter is hiding from me or my name isn't Lisa Granger!

A/N: Halfway through. Should get started on the next set I suppose. No?


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: Al**

He had finally arrived at the place. In one piece.

It had been an extremely difficult journey to have gotten to his destination. The return leg would be a lot easier, mainly because he knew he could Apparate to just outside the grounds of Hogwarts and then walk in from there into the school.

Or he could always head to The Hog's Head from there and go see Aberforth.

But all that was for later.

Right now though was going to be the toughest part of the task he had undertaken.

The destruction of one of Tom's Horcruxes.

He had refused to call him anything else. Not You Know Who. Not He Who Must Not Be Named. Not The Dark Lord. Not even Voldemort.

To him, calling Tom by any other name would be tantamount to accepting defeat. And he knew that Tom would see it in the same way.

That boy, no, he was no longer a boy. Albus wasn't sure if he could even be termed a man. He was a monster and more likely than not, a dark creature himself, having surrendered his mortal body the day he had attacked the Potters.

No, Albus was not going to think about the Potters now. It simply wasn't the time.

He had been thinking about pretty much only two things the past couple of weeks. One was about Tom's Horcruxes and the other about young Harry.

He knew that his time of reckoning was near. He had known right from the start what Tom's ridiculous demands would be, and how those who didn't meet those demands of his would pay the ultimate price.

He would make sure that he would do everything within his power to ensure the total and complete destruction of Tom Riddle, the once Head Boy and stellar student of Hogwarts, who, while he had not been a favourite of Albus' had still garnered his respect for his sheer magical prowess and talent.

But that boy no longer existed. And the monster that had taken his place needed to be put down. Once and for all.

His thoughts had then turned to Harry - he knew he had messed up with this boy big time. Mistake after mistake had been committed by Albus that had resulted most recently in the death of Harry's godfather, Sirius Black.

No, no more. Just as how Albus was willing to do whatever it took to finish off Tom, he was just as willing if not more to ensure that young Harry lived.

Albus though knew in his heart of hearts that that wasn't going to happen.

It had become clear to him from the moment he had figured out what Tom had done to achieve immortality that the probability of Harry surviving had dropped sharply and was currently close to non-existent.

But he would search till the very end to ensure that Harry survived.

He was done with playing chance and probability.

He would now leave no stone unturned in his quest to save Harry.

But if his hunch was right, he would need to turn a stone very shortly as he began his crusade.

The town of Little Hangleton was nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the fact that a ghastly triple murder had taken place about half a century ago and which was still the topic of great debate in the town's only pub.

Opinion was naturally divided on the different servants to have been employed by the Riddles (the family that had occupied the statuesque manor) on who the actual culprit was. And the version of the story had changed ever so slightly every single time it was told that the story that Albus heard in the pub was completely different from the one he had heard from his contacts all those years ago.

In a bid to ensure that the statute of secrecy was upheld, the wizarding and ordinary governments had long ago decided that every police team investigating any crime would always have at least one member who was magical. This had been an extremely clever plan, for it ensured an opportunity for the muggle born to feel useful while not threatening the livelihoods of the purebloods. More to the point, the muggle born were kept out of any high ranking jobs they might have aspired to, with promises of promotions and the like in the muggle force instead. Yes, it had been a very smart move.

It had sounded like a routine call to the police personnel on duty that day about fifty years ago. And they had responded as usual. A team had rushed to the spot, consisting of a single muggle born detective in their ranks. The detective had been trained at the Auror Corps as he had been quite an impressive cadet right from the start. Further more, the training officer had been mightily impressed with the detective so much that he taught him some advanced techniques, not just in spell detection but also in magical means of communication that could be used to alert the Aurors while being commonplace to the muggles.

The detective had arrived on the spot and the moment he had entered the house, his senses prickled. While it would have been funny in any other scenario and possibly with any other person, for him the tingling of his senses indicated that there had recently been a huge magical discharge. He wondered what it could have been and who it could have been that they had managed to slip through undetected for so long, even though the magical discharge was huge.

One of the first rules that had been drilled into the detective had been Occam's Razor or alternatively known as the Keep It Simple Stupid rule. And the application of that rule in this instance resulted in the rather elementary solution that there were known magicals nearby.

Storing that information away, the detective had begun to look around, discreetly using spells whenever possible to see if he could get a trace on the magic. But every single avenue that he tried failed. And then at last he came upon the crime scene.

Only to wish that it had not been him who had taken up this case.

The moment he had entered the dining room and had taken a look at the occupants, he had guessed what had happened. It didn't take a genius to work out that the reason for three people to all be dead, in a position that showed that they had been alive and well just moments prior, meant only one thing.

The Killing Curse had been used.

Repeatedly.

The detective was amazed and more than a little scared.

Three Killing Curses. The power and hate needed to cast the curses was immense.

And yet, the person who had cast the three curses had even managed to ensure that it would be impossible to track him or her back.

That spoke of phenomenal stamina and magical prowess.

And a personality that was well past bad and well into the realm of evil.

The detective shuddered. He was worried.

They basically had a manic killer on the loose.

Whether he was targeting specific people or whether he picked his victims at random, they had no clue.

They didn't even know his motive.

And it scared the living daylights out of him.

He looked at his colleagues and nodded to them, conveying to them that his investigation was complete. As he walked over to one of them, he moved his fingers in a particular pattern.

To the unobserved eye, it would seem to be that he was either drawing random patterns in the air, while to the more experienced eye it would seem as if he were trying to make sense of patterns that he had no doubt seen at the crime scene.

It was actually neither.

It was the method of communication that he had been taught that automatically transferred a copy of the scene, his memories and his thoughts on the case to the records in the Auror department and also alerted the Head of the Auror and Magical Law Departments of the situation.

A pretty handy spell indeed.

He knew what would follow. He would have to offer a convincing explanation to the rest of his police mates about why he wouldn't be able to solve the case even though he actually had.

Obliviating them was never an option. For one, the detective didn't believe in going down that route and even if he had been so inclined, it was something that had been banned by the muggle government. They had categorically stated that while it was understandable that the vast majority of the population not know about such incidents, it wouldn't do any good to have law enforcers struggling to remember important incidents pertaining to everyone's security. Hence in these situations they would explain that a near perfect crime had been committed and hoped that that kept most of the police force in line. Many grew to understand that something of interest wasn't being conveyed to them and had tried one of two approaches - keeping quiet and accepting or going after it hammer and tongs.

The detective hoped that his buddies remained in the first category as much as possible. He did not want to involve the higher ups unnecessarily.

The detective had also developed a close friendship with one Albus Dumbledore. True, he had been awed the first time he had seen the man, but had gradually become closer which made him reflect on the opinion that perhaps he could call himself Albus' friend (the reverse was definitely true)

In spite of being his friend though, the detective knew very little about his past. In fact it seemed to the detective that every time he tried to broach that topic, Albus would subtly and effectively either cut off the conversation or steer it in a different direction.

He knew that Albus would be very interested in this case and considering that he also held a very important role in the wizarding power structure, it wouldn't be seen as breach of confidence.

Feeling confident thus, Dedalus Diggle, for that was his name (his last name had caused quite a few laughs, quite literally as it rhymed with giggle), went about the next steps.

He wasn't looking forward to the session with the Head Auror and the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement. Both were tough cookies and had gotten to their posts because they were good, thorough and uncompromising.

Dedalus still felt uneasy though. There was something about the magic in the vicinity of the place that gave him the chills. Maybe it was the fact that he knew what had happened that he kind of expected this, but he wasn't sure.

He had never been a prodigy at anything but had been pretty decent at gauging the quality of magic. It was a skill that many possessed, for that was how many people, particularly those in the Auror force were able to anticipate their attacks. The muggles called it their sixth sense, the sense of perception.

And his sixth sense was telling him that something was very wrong. There was something else that was causing him this sense of unease.

But Dedalus was no fool. He was not going to investigate it by himself. He might be more powerful than the average wizard (generally the muggle born were reasonably powerful, with those classified as half-bloods being more powerful than muggle-born on average and purebloods less powerful than them, again on average), but he was no match to someone who had cast the killing curse thrice in succession (after all if it hadn't been in succession, then one of the other two would have called for help).

No he would bring it up before another person who had also been classified as a half-blood and was well known in the wizarding world - Albus Dumbledore.

Finishing up his task (thankfully his mates belonged to the first category), he quickly caught the first police vehicle that was making its way back to the police station.

The minute he reached, he requested permission for early release, claiming that he was sick after visiting the site. And the moment that request had been granted, he ran out of the door and disappeared into a deserted lane that lay adjacent to the police station and Apparated to the Ministry.

Strictly speaking he wasn't allowed to apparate, but considering this was an emergency, he had been given permission to do so.

Dashing off towards the lifts to take him to the Auror offices, he concentrated on happy thoughts as he sought to conjure a Patronus with a message for Albus.

Albus' reply came just as he was about to enter the Auror offices. He was relieved to hear that Albus would be joining them shortly and that he had sent this message to the other two as well.

Dedalus was glad that he didn't have to talk to either of the two people. While he had nothing to hide, the two had an ability to put you at unease with their words and their demeanour.

There was Barty Crouch, the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement and at whose name Dedalus a shudder ran through him. Bartemius as he preferred his juniors all address him (not as Mr. Crouch and not as Barty but by his full name), was one who was the very epitome of strictness and discipline. His dressing was always immaculate and his attitude was always uncompromising. He was rumoured to have clashed with all the other Heads at least once and wasn't well liked, but he was immensely respected. He was the kind of leader that you would want at the helm in troubled times.

The other person, the Head Auror, was one whom Dedalus had always greatly admired - Amelia Bones. In a world that was mostly male dominated (mainly owing to the fact that men had in general more brute strength which corresponded to magical power), Amelia had fought twice the fight to get where she was. Every opponent of hers that had underestimated her had done so at their own peril.

She was good. Scratch that. She was bloody brilliant.

All things considered they were not the two people he would like to face alone. Hopefully Albus would get there soon. His presence would indicate at the very least that there was one familiar face in the interview.

Albus arrived within a couple of minutes of Dedalus entering the conference room, dressed in a manner that confirmed that his sense of colours still at the same level of flamboyancy as before. In contrast, the other two occupants in the room with the exception of Dedalus were dressed in plain black robes, with only the logo of the Ministry of Magic and the rank of the person stitched on to it. (Dedalus having come directly from his muggle police force duty was dressed in typical muggle fashion, that allowed him to roam around without standing out, or as they called it, mufti)

The interview began. And it went on and on. The three were very sharp and precise in their questioning keeping Dedalus on his toes as they asked him questions related to the incident. True, they had gotten a copy of the memories, but the interview helped them to understand things more subjectively rather than only the objective viewpoint that the memory presented. After all, it is quite difficult to show even via memories, the feeling of chill that Dedalus had experienced at the site.

All the while, Albus asked relatively few questions. The vast majority was from Amelia Bones and it was natural that she be the one to ask that many questions, for it was she who would have to follow up on the crime. Crouch on the other hand, as Bones' superior, did not ask questions on the details of the case, but took on a slightly bigger picture.

But it was Albus that worried Dedalus the most. The few questions that he had asked had seemed to be rather esoteric mixed with the insightful - did Dedalus feel the chill coming off one particular area or if it was spread out the entire estate? Did Dedalus visit the nearby greenery and see if he felt the chill there as well? Would there be any investigation done to check if the three victims had died within moments of each other? Could it be categorically ruled out that while the killing curse had been cast on one, the other two had not been petrified and thus, the times between their deaths could be a lot longer, indicating a far less powerful wizard than what Dedalus had suggested?

On and on it went. Till Dedalus was so tired from his constant exertion of having to remember and relive every detail that he very nearly fell down unconscious while speaking. It was only at that stage that everyone present and conscious realised that the interview had stretched on for more than four hours and finally Dedalus was relieved of duty.

Thanking them profusely, after being given a Pepper Up potion, one that was always kept in every single room in the Ministry (they were notorious for having long discussions, very long meetings and extremely long Wizengamot sessions), he flooed back to his house.

Crouch and Bones had also left, having to investigate this mysterious occurrence and begin a trace for the killer.

Albus on the other hand, had remained sitting in the interview room itself. Being the Chief Warlock, he had permission to use an unoccupied room for as long as he needed, as long as it had not been booked for some other purpose by someone else.

Something did not seem right to him.

One name fitted perfectly with the possibility. One that was supposedly a student in the school where he was the Transfiguration Professor. One he was sure that he had the skills to commit murder and to be able to cover it up very well.

And one who was arrogant enough to think that he could not be found out.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He hoped to the high seas that he was mistaken. But Albus knew that such a hope was a futile one. To those who knew Tom Riddle, and knew him well, knew that he was well and truly capable of doing such a thing.

And while Dedalus had mentioned the name of the muggles who had been killed, there had been no recognition in Amelia or Barty, even though there was a Riddle in school now and he was already making waves in the wizarding community. Perhaps they had simply not made the connection, perhaps most of the their attention had been focused on the why and the how instead of the how.

Albus got up from seat. He knew what he would have to do.

He knew the boy still had family on his mother's side that he would need to pay a visit to.

The family that would need to account for itself.

It had taken him a while, but he had finally managed to track down Tom's mother's brother. The father was no longer alive, having died from injuries that he had sustained from a fight that he had picked up with the locals when drunk. The brother, Morfin, had been extremely difficult to track down. And the reason for it was quite clear.

A Compulsion Charm had been placed on him that kept him constantly on the move. Morfin had been charmed to not stay in one place for more than a couple of days and to make himself as prominent as possible so that he had valid alibis.

While to most it would have seemed like a simple compulsion charm, it was very clear to Albus that it was something more. It was in fact a light Imperious Curse that had been placed on Morfin. Actually, light wouldn't be the right word to describe it as any effort or suggestion to get himself checked by a Healer would cause Morfin to have painful fits that increased in intensity as he neared a hospital. And if Albus' guess was right, it would mean that Morfin would drop dead before a Healer could actually see him, in fact probably the moment he stepped into a hospital.

Briefly, Albus thought about getting a Healer over, but he was sure that the Curse placed on Morfin was such that if magic so much as detected someone (not just a Healer) coming to mentally aid Morfin, he would be dead before he could get out a single word.

It was going to be very difficult to get Morfin to talk as just one wrong word could end the man's life. And with no money, limited survival skills and even more limited magic abilities, Morfin did not have long to live once the Imperious had been placed on him.

It was smart work that had been done by Tom, for Albus was now convinced that only Tom could have pulled off such a thing. He hadn't outright killed the man probably out of a limited sentiment of being magical kin and a descendant of the House of Slytherin, but had enough anger and hate in him, not to mention, closing all escape routes that he had decided the other way instead.

It was an excruciating time for Albus, not knowing what would trip the man up and end his life. He always was on the outside, occasionally testing the boundaries but never fully venturing into the mind of Morfin with the aim of extracting the thoughts.

But even from the surface, he could pick up some proof that Tom had met with this man, for Morfin's initial disgust at what he first perceived to be his nemesis was still strong enough to come through the protection that Tom had added.

Unfortunately for Albus and Morfin, magic decided that those thoughts were in breach of the conditions of the curse that had been placed on Morfin and had decided that his life was forfeit.

Before Albus could so much as react, Morfin eyes rolled to the back of his head, and slumped down to the ground.

He was dead.

Albus knew that it was pointless to try and revive Morfin as he knew just how thorough Tom could be. He also suspected that if someone were to do a post-mortem study, they would find nothing more than heart failure which could always be attributed to the stress that Morfin had been under from the constant travelling.

No, the whole thing wouldn't get a second look.

Sighing to himself, Albus rose. Any insight he wanted to learn into the psyche of Tom through his relatives was now impossible.

The last of the original Gaunt line, with the exception of Tom, was dead.

Albus had gone to Little Hangleton and searched in vain for the shack that he knew Morfin had been living in. He had visited Riddle Manor and had felt for himself what Dedalus had mentioned - a chill creeping down his spine - though it had been a long while after the original incident had taken place.

While the manor house had been easy to locate, the house of the Gaunts wasn't so. He could detect residual magic in the surroundings, and it seemed to be getting stronger and stronger as he walked in one particular direction and then began to reduce again.

He hadn't understood it at first, but later on, a solution had presented itself to him.

The Gaunt Shack had been placed under a Fidelius, most likely by Tom.

To Albus, that was confirmation that Tom Riddle was involved in the whole matter. But it had also greatly worried him as he had been able to see no reason why Tom would want to hide the location of a nondescript shack.

Unless of course he had something in the shack that he did not want the others to know about.

Unfortunately, there had been no way for Albus to circumvent the Fidelius. There were only two ways in which one could see a place that had been hidden by the charm - they had to be either told about it, or they had to have died.

The very idea of Tom Riddle confiding in Albus Dumbledore, the location of teh Gaunt Shack had sounded absurd, even to Albus.

There was only one that thing that he could do.

And that was what he had done for.

For a very long time.

Soon after Tom had met his match at the hands (or was it forehead really?) of young Harry, Albus had tried to return to the location of the Gaunt Shack. He knew that buried at that location was a vital clue that he had needed.

But he had been unable to.

The days, weeks, months and even a couple of years following Tom's fall had been extremely busy for him, as he helped to rebuild the wizarding world.

It had taken until young Harry's end of second year at Hogwarts when he had shown Albus the diary that he had remembered the item that he had added to his to-do list, and one whose urgency status had gone up by a few levels.

Unfortunately for him though, problems continued to persist. Sirius Black, the one who was widely thought to have betrayed the Potters to Tom had broken out of the wizarding prison and young Harry's life was potentially at stake.

He had been forced, at the end of an annoyingly long (and for him, utterly pointless) debate on stationing the foulest of foul creatures at the grounds of a school that hosted young, impressionable minds and ones that would be helpless in defending themselves against the dementors.

It had been an eventful year and with Sirius being constantly spotted, he had had his hands full, along with keeping Severus from jumping down Remus' throat at every single opportunity.

Then had come the Quidditch World Cup fiasco. Where a group of muggles had been tortured by the Death Eaters as sport. Again the madness and the fear that it had spawned had given him little time to look into the matter of the Gaunt Shack. Add to it the pressures of both the World Cup itself and the Triwizard Tournament, and he had barely been able to string a couple of hours free, and that was before the Tournament began.

That was another nightmare. Every step of the way he had had to make sure that young Harry would survive. No, he didn't supply any clues or overt help to young Harry, but he was always in the background. During the first task, there was Dedalus Diggle himself, who had been Disillusioned with a Scent Removing Charm placed on him (so that the dragon didn't get at him instead), to step in and protect Harry in case things were about to turn ugly. For the second task, there was a merman who had been discreetly following Harry to ensure that he didn't get into trouble beyond what he could manage. Both of these were unknown to anyone else but the two parties and Albus and the two parties had taken oaths never to divulge this information.

It was the third task that had become his undoing. He had put in a word to Alastor, or the one he thought was Alastor, to keep an eye on all the champions. He knew that Alastor would get what he was hinting it and it seemed so did the imposter.

And then Harry had first vanished and then returned, clutching the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory.

Oh, not to forget about the right royal mess afterward. Royal because it had been mainly the Ministry's fault that had worsened an already tense situation.

The year after that had been hell for him. His every move had been shadowed, though Albus had outwardly shown no signs that he knew he was being followed. Fudge really was paranoid and like an ostrich burying its head in the sand in the face of danger, had decided to do the same thing.

The end result was that Albus had spent a year frustrating the very people who he had hoped to work with. Any move of his towards Little Hangleton would have sent that information to all and sundry and the last thing he wanted was for the newly reborn Tom to be aware of the fact that Albus suspected something was amiss in Little Hangleton.

And so it had taken him till now to be able to finally pay a visit to the Little Hangleton again, the Riddle Manor again, and for the first time to the Gaunt Shack. It also proved to Albus that his theory was right. Tom had indeed died that night, rather magic had deemed that he had died and consequently lifted the Fidelius from the Shack.

It was now or never for Albus to confirm his suspicions about Tom.

That he had created much more than one or two Horcruxes.

The destruction of the diary had been, quite frankly, an absolute fluke. It had also showcased that the Tom who had created that had been a lot younger and a lot more naive.

He didn't expect the task ahead of him to be easy.

To put it quite frankly, the smell coming from the house was something Albus could have done without. But when a place has not been taken care for so many years, it was bound to fall into disrepair, bound to be infested with insects and other creatures and was bound to have the smell of a dilapidated structure. And that was what the Gaunt Shack reeked off.

While Albus would have used nothing more than to cast a Freshening Charm over the entire shack, he refrained from it. He had no idea how the house would react to magic and if it would alert Tom to his presence as well. It wouldn't, if Tom had tied an alert only via the Fidelius, but Albus wasn't going to take a chance. The chill that he had felt when he visited the area previously had reduced marginally from his last visit (the laws governing the decay of magically residue he didn't remember, but he did recall that it was similar to the half life concept in the muggle world, though he had no idea how he remembered that bit of information) but it was still very high in his opinion.

It proved to be a boon as well, as it pretty much indicated to him that there was something hidden, with protective enchantments adding to the chill.

He reasoned that spells that were not cast on the shack would work. The freshening charm wouldn't work as it would displace the air within with fresh air taken from the outside. In that case, there would be contact between the structure of the house and the air that would have Albus' magical signature.

Basically that meant that the only spell he could be reasonably confident of casting was the Lumos spell.

And so he did.

Better to work with some light than no light at all.

Walking around cautiously, and peering about he first surveyed the different rooms in the shack. Admittedly it wasn't a large house (it was called a shack and not a manor, for a reason!) and so the inspection was done in short time. There were two main rooms - one that seemed to have served as living cum dining rooms with a mini kitchen off to the side, and a second room that served as a bedroom. The living room had a fireplace, nothing remotely grand or ornate about, just a functional one and to the side stood a chest of draws, made of wood (that had decayed due to the neglect and dampness and had also been charred slightly from being quite close to the fire) on top of which there was a small bowl, again made of wood, containing what Albus guessed was floo powder. There was very little powder in it and so Albus assumed that the Gaunts relied very little on floo to travel. In fact, he had never heard of them being traveller; they had generally kept to themselves, mainly out of spite and their sense of superiority over the rest.

Deciding to start with the second room, the one he had assumed to be the bedroom, seemed like a logical choice to Albus. It was the smaller of the two rooms and if nothing else he could finish it off soon before he checked out the living room. He was confident that something lay in the living room, but he wanted to comb through the smaller room nevertheless. While he didn't expect Tom to be careless, there was always the chance associated with having a big ego to think that leaving behind little trails would be overlooked.

Unfortunately for Albus though, there was nothing in the smaller room that seemed worthwhile. But his face did wrinkle in disgust as he noticed the large number of snakes (usually pinned on the door or the wall) and snake related stuff that he encountered. If there had been any doubt about the family being descendants of Slytherin, it was completely removed by this literal overdose of snakes.

It was then that an idea struck Albus. While he still could not cast the Freshening Charm for the air, what he could do instead was to create a spherical zone in which any spells that he performed (more than just the Lumos spell) would remain contained. Basically, any magical discharge within would be undetectable by anyone not in the sphere.

There remained a small issue though - the sphere, with Albus standing on the ground would end up hitting the ground as well, which was something that Albus wanted to avoid.

There really was only one choice out for Albus if he decided that he wanted to use the spherical zone of stealth.

He would have to levitate.

There wasn't any other choice. The problem that Albus faced wasn't so much as being able to levitate, that would be easy. The issue would be that a part of his power, in fact, if his estimates were right, about a third of his power would be spent in keeping him afloat, leaving only the remaining two-thirds for him to cast. While his power reserves (which essentially powered his magic) were impressive, he was taking on Tom's handiwork here. Anything less than a hundred percent would be a problem.

But he had no choice. It was either this way or no way at all and he really did want to get this done with. He did not know when an opportunity would next present itself and he wasn't willing to wait that long.

Clearing his mind like what he would do for Occlumency while taking a deep breath, Albus cast the levitation charm non-verbally and wandlessly. The non-verbal part was mainly for him to continue honing the skill (it tended to degrade very quickly) while the wandless part was to allow him to cast more focused spells with the wind.

He had no idea what he might find and how he might find it as well. His first thought was to summon the horcruz by using the Accio charm, but he quickly vetoed against it. Again, it would be equivalent to subjecting the horcrux to magic and possibly broadcasting to Tom that he was after his horcruxes.

No, he would go over the entire room with a fine comb. Scratch that. He decided on a different strategy.

He would start from the places most likely where Tom would have hidden such a thing. Albus believed that one did not have to read the minds of people to predict their actions. See them in action enough number of times and one could always make a reasonable guess as to their next steps (many people thought that he performed surface based Leglimency to get his information, but that was not the case; a good understanding of the person and the right usage of the keywords always allowed Albus to predict the actions of the other party)

And he would have to use the ability and skills shortly. The entire shack was giving off residue from powerful magic and consequently, he was unable to point out based on the residue itself, where exactly, if any the horcrux was.

But knowing Tom and the very fact that the shack had been under a Fidelius, everything pointed to the horcrux being in the shack itself.

The only question was where

He started off near the fireplace, beneath the woods that would have kept the fire alive (fires could be started magically, and the smoke could be vanished magically, but fuel was always needs for the fire to sustain). While it made it an obvious location to keep things hidden, there were a couple of issues with it - there was the very real threat of fire destroying the item (for which extensive fire-proofing charms would be needed), there was the fact that to Tom, the colours of the fire (orange and red mainly) represented the colours of Gryffindor and it would be something that he would have tried to avoid using in the House of Slytherin and the final fact that it was a very obvious hiding place.

No, it was not there. He turned away from the fireplace, intent on scanning the rest of the floor. Unfortunately for him, he happened to bump into the wooden cabinet that was very nearly at the end of its useful life causing it to collapse in a heap.

He had forgotten for the very small rotational motion that occurred when something was levitated. And consequently, he had started to move exactly as the same time that his direction vector changed - the end result being catastrophic, for the cabinet.

Cursing himself, Albus refrained from doing anything. The spin from the levitation was adding to his irritation of having broken the wooden cabinet. He couldn't it put together by magic and he definitely couldn't it put back together by hand. The last thing that he needed was to leave concrete evidence of his visit and it seemed like he would be doing just that.

Unfortunately for him, it also meant that the little floo powder that was in the wooden bowl had spilled over on to the floor. The dust on the floor contrasted with the white of the floo powder and together it ended up creating art. Unfortunately though, Albus was in no mood nor in any inclination to enjoy such a display, seeing it only as further proof that he had entered the property.

But it was as he was looking morosely at his mess did something occur to him. He was, in essence, dealing with Tom, the brightest student that Albus had ever taught. And where an ordinary person would have buried their treasure under a loose floorboard or the like, Tom would not have done that. In fact, in order to showcase his brilliance, he would have hidden the horcrux in plain sight, but with a trick or two and a twist or three.

And right now, Dumbledore reckoned he had cracked the trick or two part of Tom's hiding place.

His reasoning sounded logical. And there was no harm in testing it. But there was a missing ingredient that he needed if his idea were to work.

Unfortunately, the missing ingredient was the one that was on the floor.

Not the dust, but the one that had colluded with dust to seem like an art installation.

The floo powder.

Thankfully though, Albus always carried around some floo powder. He had had to make hasty exits in the past and looking around for floo powder at that time wasn't exactly the most efficient way of doing it. The result was that deep in Albus' robes, there was a bottle that contained a little floo powder.

Reaching out slowly, Albus took some of the wood from the cabinet and placed it on the fireplace. True, by bringing it within his sphere, he could have tried to fix it, but then he would have had to keep it in zone for extended periods of time till the magical residue decreased to an extremely unnoticeable level before he could put it back and not risk detection.

No the safer option was to dispose of the evidence.

He had decided to start the fire by hand as well. That was going to be slightly problematic as well as the wood was wet and would have great difficulties in catching fire. Thankfully, Albus had some knowledge of the muggle sciences and happened to have an assortment of random objects in his pockets. But as he began to rummage through its contents, an even simpler solution appeared to him.

Fawkes!

He gathered up all the wood and deposited the bulk of them into the fireplace, while retaining some of the larger logs and called for Fawkes who flamed in at the perfect height such that the flames generated by his arrival helped the logs to catch fire.

Thanking the bird, Albus placed the logs onto the rest of the pile and waited patiently. He could only hope that the rest of the wood would catch fire like the logs themselves had done (the Phoenix fire was not magical and was hotter and fiercer than the normal flame).

Fortunately for Dumbledore, the heat from the logs managed to somehow drive out the moisture from the rest of the wood making it dry and easy to burn. And so, within moments he had a nice fire going on. While he hadn't exactly been feeling cold, the warmth from the fire was very welcome indeed.

Rummaging through his pockets once again, this time round for the floo powder container, he located it and pulled it out. Opening it, he saw that there was more than sufficient amount of floo powder for his purposes.

Putting some into his hand, he put it into the fire, causing the fire to turn from its traditional red and orange to the floo ready green. Albus had no idea if the Gaunts floo was connected on any network, he suspected not, but he wasn't looking to travel by floo in any case.

No, what he was interested in was the floo ready flame itself.

The one that glowed green, the colour of the House of Slytherin and a shade that was remarkably close to the common room fires in the Slytherin Common Room in Hogwarts.

Where perhaps for the first time, Tom felt at home.

Albus paused for an instant. Now was the moment of truth. Whether or not he had understood Tom's psyche enough to have correctly guessed the floor fire as the one hiding the horcrux.

Mentally picturing what he needed, he summoned the Sword of Gryffindor, the one whose prowess had been increased by many fold courtesy of the Basilisk venom that had been coated on it.

The sword appeared in his wand arm, at the perfect height that he could hold the hilt of the blade easily, comfortably and tightly. The blade had been charmed by the goblins to never feel heavy for the one wielding it. For the one on the receiving end though, it was a different story.

Practising a few slashes in the space around him (Dumbledore had not used the sword before and consequently had no idea how exactly it would feel; he had only heard about the others using it, including young Harry, but till date had never had a need for it), Albus' confidence in the sword and his own abilities with one was restored.

Knowing that the sword had been designed to be fire-proof (the goblins had indeed put on every possible protection that they could think of), he plunged the blade into the hearth of the fire.

The blade did not seem to touch anything. As he swept the sword to the right, all he encountered was the bottom surface of the fireplace and the wood that kept the fire on. He was losing heart and beginning to doubt himself. All the past mistakes that he had made, particularly from the time of young Harry's first year at Hogwarts to that date came to mind. With each passing minute he felt more and more dejected.

He suddenly paused.

He knew he had struck pay dirt.

Not because he the sword had come into contact with something. But because he never let himself feel so down and as much as possible never let dejection take control of him that he simply wanted to quit and head back to safer shores.

There was definitely something that Tom had hidden here and the magic of which was interacting with Albus. A pretty smart and simple self-defence mechanism, the kind based off dementors in that it was designed to make one feel miserable.

Tom really knew how to play the game.

But so did Albus.

Taking a deep breath and clearing his mind, while adding more power to his Occlumency shields, Dumbledore got back to scraping the surface where the fire burned.

He was thankful that at the moment he did not have to perform so many spells as the efforts of levitating (he realized belatedly that he should always carry a broom with him, if for no other reason than for such situations) and keeping up his Occlumency were taking their toll on him. At the moment what he had was like only a third of his power left to perform any spell, a fact that worried him greatly.

But he pushed aside that thought as he focused solely on locating and obtaining the horcrux. He had no idea what it would be though. He suspected that it would be found under a loose floorboard at the hearth of the fire accessible only when the flames were coloured green with a hint of silver. He recalled how Tom had hidden away in a secret compartment in his wardrobe (which he was sure could not be accessed nor noticed by anyone who did not have permission) during his stay at the orphanage when Albus had gone to give him his Hogwarts letter.

There was definitely a secret compartment involved and if Albus understood it right, Tom would always demand a payment for it in blood to open it, not to check if the person was magical or not, but because this gave him a chance to catch the other person and cause them to bleed to death (magicals could always use Blood Replenishing Potions, something that was not available to muggles).

The issue was in finding out the location of the compartment. Albus always carried in his pockets, a silver dagger as well. He generally liked to be prepared for a variety of situations, particularly when he was venturing out into the unknown like the situation he found himself in.

Running the blade along the surface first from top to bottom and then from left to right, Albus closed his eyes and let his magic take over the detection. It was a difficult task, like looking for a needle that as deeply buried in a haystack, but he kept at it. He added more power to the Occlumency shields and while blocking thoughts from entering, used it to filter out the magic that washed past him.

There! He had managed to detect a tiny spike in the magic levels. It was very tiny and it made Albus hesitant.

Repeating the procedure, Albus' heart sank.

He was able to find the same small spike in magic levels at six other locations. It seemed to be random to him, the distribution of these points, till it suddenly struck him and which had been a source of great debate between himself and his friend and former professor Horace Slughorn.

Seven points in total.

Seven was the most powerful magical number!

The points that where had had encountered the spikes weren't random! They were the points that helped to design a heptagon!

The more Albus thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense to him. After all, even Tom could not be expected to remember where exactly he had placed the horcrux and would need to have a method to find it out. And knowing Tom, while it would have been possible for him to have left behind a memory, there was always the chance that the memory could be seen by someone else and also possibly be compromised.

And Tom trusted no one with the exception of himself.

That left only one possibility - he would have to leave seemingly innocuous bread crumbs that he, (and in his infinite ego) he alone could decipher.

Unfortunately for Tom, he had forgotten that Albus too was cerebrally gifted.

It was going to take some amount of effort for Albus though. Theoretically he could use floo powder to trace out the heptagon in a manner similar to what he had seen some of the muggles, especially the ones that were of South Asian origin, do.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was probably the only way he would be able to draw out the heptagon. But the question was how - he obviously couldn't plunge his hand into the surface and draw. And he definitely couldn't use magic as well.

That left having something like a long pen with floo powder as its ink. It could, again theoretically, work. He looked for a log that was long enough that could be transfigured into an equally long pen, one that he could "write" with from a distance (by holding the "pen" of course).

It took him a while to find a suitable stick that hadn't yet caught fire and could be used for the purpose. Holding the stick up so that it did not touch the ground, Albus transfigured it into a pen, but with a wooden nib (he was taking no chances) that he would carve out with his silver knife shortly. He transferred some of the floo powder into the ink holder region of the pen (his design had been based on the classic ink pens that he had seen and was most familiar with)

and hoped that the modified ink would pass through the carved nib. He had placed a little bit of water in the ink holder region to ensure that what came out of the nib was liquid.

Taking his silver knife, he quickly carved out the nib for the pen. Once it was done, he carefully placed the nib of the pen at the same location where he had placed the Sword of Gryffindor. Albus was sweating quite profusely by now, the combination of the strain on his magic (he clearly wasn't becoming any younger), as well as the heat from the flames (the heat could not be magicked away, only the smoke could be) showing their effects.

There seemed to be no adverse reaction and so he Albus went ahead and traced the lines of the heptagon on the hearth of the fire. He had had to draw each line a couple of times to ensure that he would still be able to see it at a later time, but not so long that it would remain even after he left the place.

Finally the heptagon was done. Now came the tricky part. Where he had to connect the opposing points of the heptagon to get the centre.

It again took a while, but Albus was finally done. While drawing the first "diagonal" line, Albus had felt nothing. But as he had drawn the second line, and just as it had crossed the first, he could begin to feel a spike in magic. The story repeated itself with every passing line, and it grew as the line approached the point of intersection, before reducing slightly in intensity later.

But there was a new problem now that Albus had not foreseen and for which Albus cursed himself.

Connecting the edges of an odd numbered polygon did not always yield a single common point. The way in which the edges were paired made a difference.

It was going to take him a long time indeed.

_

A/N: There you go. The biggest chapter, by a distance, so far! There may not be an update tomorrow, but I will try to. Cheers!


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: H**

The weeks had dragged by for Harry. He had hoped that at least this year he would be removed from the Dursleys, but no, that hadn't been the case.

Instead he had been forced to do the chores as always, though this time round, he had one less source of trouble to worry about.

Dudley.

His cousin, while not exactly being very friendly, had managed to remain civil for long periods of time whenever he found himself in the same room or sharing space with Harry. And while before he used to go out of his way to taunt him (even though Dudley was scared of Harry's magical abilities), this time round it was the complete opposite.

What had surprised Harry the most was that Dudley had offered to help him out with the chores when Harry's aunt and Dudley's mom, a Petunia Dursley, was not looking. Needless to say, this didn't quite translate into getting help for many tasks, but in some of the other ones, Harry was grateful for Dudley's help.

There was hardly any conversation between them though. Fifteen years of having treated each other like the enemy could do that to people. Topics that could be construed as civil were done in the first couple of conversations itself, leaving both of them in an extremely awkward position.

It was on one such morning, while Harry was out gardening, and for which Dudley was helping in the background, practicaly unseen by his mother, did their topics of conversation become more personal.

And it had all started with an owl delivering a letter to Harry.

Harry had been extremely surprised. He had gotten what he considered to be the formal ones - the one from the Ministry with his OWL results (he had done decently; he would have preferred one grade higher in most subjects, but considering the stresses he had been under, he felt he had done quite OK), the ones from Hogwarts annoucing the books that he would need for his sixth year there and being pleasantly surprised that he had been made Quidditch Captain, something that he had not even remotely expected (he had always figured it would go to Katie Bell, the Gryffindor Chaser and the one who would be stating her NEWT year at Hogwarts) - and many informal ones as well - the one from Professor McGonagall that had flummoxed him greatly but to which he had replied politely with a heartfelt thanks for her offer and letting her know that he would contact her if he needed any help (though privately, Harry doubted that he would take any serious matter to her; past experiences had taught him that she hadn't exactly been on his side and it was difficult for Harry to trust someone who had broken his trust a couple of times), the ones with Neville and Luna, one being a tad more formal in tone but which had become more and more informal thanks to Harry's persistence (he knew he could count on Neville to have his back at all times and to be a voice of reason when necessary) and the other being typical of the writer's personality (one which Harry enjoyed immensely as well as it was truly refreshing) and who had both written to him independently of the other that they were becoming more interested in the other party (Harry had rubbed his hands in glee when he had read the two mails; he now had material with which he could tease the two with, which should be fun).

And then there had been his correspondence with his two best friends - Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Both letters too amused Harry to no end, for their mails were truly reflective of their personalities. Ron's would often talk about Quidditch and other random things and had none of the hard questions or anything to do with feelings (Harry suspected it was a mix of both, Ron's reluctance to deal with emotions and to keep Harry distracted from thinking about what had transpired during the OWLs and before the summer break). Hermione's letters on the other hand, were a mix of a lot of things - most of it was definitely not random, and the whole letter had content ranging from what Hermione was planning to do over the break, what courses she planned to take up for the coming year, that Harry was not to worry nor feel upset about anything, that Harry had done well in his exams and that she knew he would always top the batch in Defence Against the Dark Arts, that there were topics that she was looking into and would be sharing with Harry, particularly the ones that she felt would be useful and important to him, that he not shut himself away as that was not something that Sirius would have wanted, that she was always there to help if he needed her help at anytime, school term time or not.

While Harry appreciated Ron's letters, it was Hermione's letters that he particularly enjoyed reading. And with every mail he read, he thanked his stars for having a friend like her, someone who he could depend on entirely to be by his side always.

He didn't know why Hermione stuck with him and Ron, especially because they hadn't been the nicest blokes to her nor had they done much fo her. He wasn't sure if he should ask her the question though - partly from the fear that she would curse him into next week (and possibly with curses that he had never even heard of before), but majorly from the fear that once he asked the question, she would do some thinking and realize that she indeed had nothing positive to get from the friendship and break it off. Harry knew he was being irrational, and that Hermione would never take that view and follow it up by walking out on him, but a small part of him was still unsure.

He had received a letter from Mad-Eye Moody as well. That had been most amusing to Harry. He didn't think that given his paranoia, the ex-Auror would ever send anything via owl mail.

He had been wrong.

And he had been right.

The ex-Auror had indeed sent him an owl mail.

But true to Moody's form, there was nothing of import in it. In fact at first glance, the mail that he had received from Moody seemed to Harry to be some sort of joke, one that some prankster had played (he had initially doubted the Twins, but he very quickly shook off that thought; whatever their faults maybe, the Twins would never prank someone like this, especially on a matter that was definitely serious). There were just magazines and a few newsletters that made Harry think that he had picked everything up at the wizarding equivalent of a garage sale and had mailed it to Harry.

The problem was that even the magazines and the newspaper articles had all been random. It had made no sense to Harry until about a couple of days after he had received the letter.

It had been password protected.

And knowing Moody, there was only one password that he could have possibly used.

Constant Vigilance!

Except that when Harry had spoken the words aloud with the mail in hand, nothing had happened. For a long moment, he had wondered if he had made a mistake.

But then the thought struck him that he was a wizard. Following that line of thought had led him to realize that he probably needed his wand with him to get it to work, like how the Marauders Map had worked. He had been slightly hesitant because he wasn't sure if there was going to be any magical spells tied to his signature and location that would be performed the minute he uttered the password. Although he knew that at the moment, the Ministry wouldn't dare slap charges against him considering that they had been wrong for the whole of last year and there was no longer the threat of expulsion and wand breaking now that he had finished his OWLs, it was not something that he wanted to chance.

Praying to himself and hoping that Moody had not been foolish in overlooking this tiny yet major detail, Harry had placed his wand on the envelope and had stated clearly "Constant Vigilance!"

And that had done the trick.

He had received no mails or warnings from the Ministry for having performed magic in a non-magical household, which was a relief for Harry. It had meant that Moody had smartly used two layers of security, one being his favourite phrase and the other (the more important one) being the magical signature of the person. Once the envelope had detected that the magical signature had matched the recipient magical signature that had been encoded in it, it had revealed itself.

It was fascinating for Harry to watch as all the newspaper articles and the magazines first sorted themselves out, rearranged themselves in a particular order and then fused together to become one thick book. The Glamour spell which had been in place to cover the actual contents in the original mail had all disappeared, giving Harry his first look at the tome in his hand.

 _Wandless & Non-Verbal Magic: What You Are Never Told by M.E. Mastor_

The title sounded interesting to Harry. He vaguely remembered that non-verbal magic would be taught during his sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts, but there had been nothing about wandless magic. He had never heard of the author of the book, and assumed that the tome itself was not a very popular one or that it was out of print.

There was no note, nothing in the inside of the book to suggest anything to Harry on why Moody had sent it to him. But Harry hazarded that he had been sent this by Moody because he thought it would be necessary, perhaps his very survival depended on knowing this branch of magic. He had heard rumours, though he did not believe all of them that Voldemort was supposed to be very skilled at wandless magic as well as non-verbal magic.

He had spoken briefly with Remus and Hermione about this, and about why Voldemort had always seemed to never use those skills in whatever battle that he had heard Voldemort had fought in. And he had been struck by the sheer simplicity of the answers that they had both given him. Answers that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt were true the moment he had heard them.

It was the best way to spread terror and panic.

Every time someone faced Voldemort and he cut them down, it would have maximum impact if the spells he performed were verbal. Not for the person being cut down, but for the ones who were nearby. They would keep hearing his voice over and over again during their nightmares and that only serve to heighten their fear of him and consequently increase his hold over them.

And using a wand helped to further focus power into a spell. Wandless magic could be just as powerful, but that required strong concentration skills. And there was always the possibility that Voldemort was just as skilled in wandless magic as well, but did not showcase it in case he had to use it as his trump card.

All things considered, Voldemort was a genius who knew how to use every single thing in his favour.

And Harry was the one destined to vanquish him.

(For a brief moment, Harry's thought went to the rather bizarre notion that if he drove a van over Voldermort and squished him, could it be taken as he had vanquished him?)

Harry's thoughts came back to the present when the owl that had landed in front of him had given an indignant hoot. He had apparently been lost in his thoughts long enough that the owl was irritated with him. It was giving him a look that plainly said, "Look here kid. You can do your daydreaming about pretty girls later. For the moment, just get the damn letter off my leg and take delivery of it. I have better things to do than to wait for you to finish your fantasy"

Unfortunately for the owl (who liked to call himself Mr. Wingles), the entire gamut of emotions being conveyed by the look was lost on the recipient of the letter, who had taken one look at the origin of the post and had very nearly fainted.

Thankfully for Mr. Wingles, Harry did not faint, and managed to pull himself together to get the letter off the owl. The minute Harry had removed the letter, Mr. Wingles had taken off without so much as a backwards glance at him, but with yet another indignant hoot directed at Harry.

Leaving a very bemused looking Harry.

Mt. Wingles really was someone who was very important with tight schedules to follow!

Although the temptation to open the letter immediately was too great, Harry decided to first tuck it into his pockets and finish up the gardening. The last thing he wanted was to give his aunt and uncle ample excuses to have a go at him. As it was, they were always ready to criticise him. So why add fuel to the fire?

Besides, he wasn't yet trusting enough of Dudley to ask him to cover for him. Yes, they were civil, but old experiences where people had befriended him only to turn around and prank him massively before dissolving a budding friendship still weighed heavily on Harry. He wasn't willing to take a chance on Dudley yet.

What this essentially meant was that he still had about a couple of hours work at the very least before he could get done with the gardening and then read the letter. Correction, he would first have to wash up thoroughly, for otherwise Aunt Petunia would berate him for that, followed by having to wash his clothes, again if that wasn't done at the earliest, he would again get yelled at.

He sighed audibly. If only he were allowed to do magic, then he could probably be done in half the time. But no. His aunt wouldn't allow him to nor would the Ministry.

Muttering darkly, Harry ended up using a little more force than was necessary to pull out the weed. The end result was that he went tumbling along the garden.

He sighed again. It was going to be a long couple of hours.

He was finally done. He could now read the letter in peace.

Although as he took the letter, his hands started shaking. On the back of the envelope where he would have to open the letter, was the seal of Gringotts. There was nothing else written or indicated save for his address on the front.

To Harry, considering that he had not received any such mail over the past five years in the wizarding world, there was only one conclusion that could be drawn.

It had to be something from Sirius.

More specifically it had to be something that had been activated after his death.

As he thought of this, his eyes began to tear up. He could not forgive himself, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he wanted to believe what Hermione and Remus and Luna and Neville had told him.

It had been his fault. And the thoughts haunted him again.

If only he had learned Occlumency properly before.

If only he had checked every possible avenue before heading to the death trap.

If only, if only.

It took him a long while to compose himself. The floodgates had closed once again, but there was still the trickle of tear drops that refused to be locked away but instead wanted to mourn for Sirius. There was the odd sniffling and hiccuping as well.

Taking a deep breath and clearing his mind, Harry took out his pocket knife (not the one that Sirius had given, for that had been lost to the ages at the Department of Mysteries) and slit open the envelope carefully cutting through only the seal and not the material of the envelope itself.

Gently, reverentially, as if it were a prized commodity (and to him it definitely was), Harry opened the envelope and took out the letter.

The shaking of his hands which had stopped when he had been breaking open the seal, now returned in full force. Added to that his palms had also begun to sweat.

He had half a mind to not read the letter, for fear of what Sirius might have said to him. If he had blamed Harry for his death, then it would shatter him into a million pieces. If he had not blamed him and had instead told him that Harry should definitely not blame himself, then too Harry felt that he would shatter into a million pieces. Either way it would confirm that the man who had been closest to a father figure was definitely no more.

Steeling himself, for that was what Sirius would want of him, Harry began to read the letter.

He read it again.

And again.

He couldn't believe some of the things that was there in the letter.

And some others he could believe but he could not reconcile to the fact that he himself had overlooked all that.

Anger. Rage. Sadness. And finally he returned to the state he had been before he had started on the letter.

In tears.

By the window side, looking at her human, Hedwig hooted softly. Harry got up, placed the letter with a paperweight on the cabinet on which Hedwig's perch stood and stroked her feathers, looking out into the night.

Deciding that he needed a walk to clear his head, and that breathing exercises alone would no longer do the trick, Harry grabbed the closest jacket that he could find and left the house. The Dursleys were out for dinner at a friend's place and so weren't going to be a problem for Harry. The only possible issue was that he would have to return soon, for he had no idea in what mood and at what time they would be back.

Picking the lock had been child's play for him. Letting himself out, Harry walked out into the night, with the breeze non-existent.

Upstairs in his room, Hedwig watched from the window as her human walked away from the house deep in thought.

Hooting sadly, she turned her big amber eyes onto the parchment that had been placed next to her perch and perused its contents. She again hooted, again sadly.

The letter began:

Dear Pup,


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: Ra**

He sat at the counter, like any of the others stationed there. Only those who knew him knew who he really was and he knew that they would keep his secrets. This was something that he did, even if he wasn't particularly fond of it. His prowess were not in this area. It was more in tactical planning and strategizing and leading his team to success. That was how he had become popular.

That was how he had become the ruler. That was how he had been elected king.

Ragnok.

That was who he was.

Leader of the Goblin nation at Great Britain.

Unlike the wizards, whose concept of democracy was laughable at best, the goblins despite being known as a warring society, had very strict protocols in place.

After their last war with the wizard, which was lost (anything they didn't win, especially in battle was considered a defeat for them), there was a huge rebellion within the goblin ranks. The wizarding world remained blissfully unaware of the fact that the goblin on whose word the human-goblin war had sprung up was now buried a further six feet under and the concept of monarchy abolished.

Too much power given to one person irrespective of race or specie, the goblins had realized, only leads to disastrous results.

The result was to elect the best among them for a duration of time, when they would be king and would be the representative of the goblins to liaise with the wizards.

And Ragnok was now king.

His reign hadn't been without its problems. When both mankind and goblin-kind thought that they could experience peace for an extended period of time, there was the problem with the Dark Wizard Grindelwald.

It had taken an eternity for the humans to sort that issue out. The goblins had kept well clear of it so that it didn't become an inter-species war from an intra-species one.

Thankfully for everyone concerned, Grindelwald had realized early on that fighting against the goblins was unnecessary, or rather could be attended to once he had taken care of the wizarding world.

The goblins had not suffered per se, but as with any situation involving war, there were large losses that they had made. It was said that wars have a way of making some more wealthy, but that hadn't been the case for the goblins.

Once Grindelwald had been defeated, there had been some semblence of peace for a while.

Before the next Dark Wizard had decided it was his turn to take over the world.

And this one seemed to be the worst of the lot, looking down upon the goblins as if they were filthy creatures and not sentinent beings that needed to be eradicated in order to prevent the spread of a vicious disease.

Again, the goblins had not been directly assaulted. The ones that had suffered, Ragnok could find no direct trace to wizards and so was unable to take action against them. He had had half a mind to go on a quest of revenge, but common sense had prevailed. He had no intention of destroying the lives of thousands of goblins on an emotional decision.

And so he had waited and watched once again.

Then, unexpectedly and totally out of the blue, news came that the latest Dark Wizard had been defeated. While the wizarding world had rejoiced for a long while after the downfall of the terrorizer, the goblins had remained calm.

They had seen too many false dawns for them to jump about and celebrate. And they were pretty sure that the status quo would not change for them despite this latest defeat.

And unlike the humans, the goblins knew that there were ways to side-step death. The goblins knew that the reprieve they had gotten due to the downfall of the one who called himself Lord Voldemort was only temporary. They had an inkling of what he might have done to tie himself to this plane of existence.

Unfortunately for the goblins though there was no one they could share the information with.

This had been a problem both ways. The wizards had never accorded the goblins felt they deserved and this in turn had led to the goblins treating its human customers pretty poorly. Rude behaviour towards human clients had become the norm among the goblins themselves.

Much to the disappointment of Ragnok.

Oh, he was no saint. He too tended to treat the humans with disdain. But unlike the rest of his subjects, he was a lot more subtle with it and did not use it on every human he encountered. He would talk to the human for a couple of minutes and ask a couple of probing questions which would invariably dictate to Ragnok the language he would need to use with the human.

Which was why, here in the present, he was utterly confused as to what to do with the young man seated in front of him.

The boy, no young man had been extremely polite to him and had even managed to remember the name of the goblin who had shown him to his vaults the previous time round. While it wasn't surprising that the young man could remember the name (names in general were easy for humans to remember), it was the fact that he had correctly managed to identify the goblin in question that had surprised Ragnok.

The young man had no inkling he was speaking to the ruler of all goblins, yet had spoken in the same measured and polite tone that he always seemed to use with them. for Ragnok, who often rued having taken such a shift, this was a welcome relief.

Ragnok had heard of young Mr. Harry Potter, Scion of the House of Potter and the Heir-Apparent to the House of Black. Ragnok had no idea if Harry was aware of the latter title, even if he could have guessed the former. After all, who in the wizarding world (goblin kind included) had not heard of the young Lord to be?

In Ragnok's honest opinion, he had been much amused by the way in which Mr. Potter had been portrayed. For the last year, the articles on him had always painted him in a negative light while at the end of it he had been proven to be right. The year before that, during the time the Triwizard Tournament had been held, Mr. Potter had again been the central focus even though there had been three other contestants.

The intelligence that he had managed to gather on Mr. Potter had shown him to be neither a delusional attention seeker nor had his prowess been waxed lyrical. The reports had been quite simple - that Mr. Potter was more powerful than the average wizard at his age and that he was fairly intelligent and competent. The report had stressed on the fact that Mr. Potter seemed to be particularly skilled in Defence and that he was a natural leader.

Nothing about the personal and social traits of Mr. Potter's had been mentioned.

Which had led to Ragnok looking at Mr. Potter in no small degree of confusion.

Of course, he would be delegating the task of taking Mr. Potter to his vaults to one of his subjects, most likely Griphook.

But it was after aspect of the visit was done, that Ragnok had to decide how to best approach the entire situation.

One thing was abundantly clear to Ragnok - if that Dark Lord got control of Gringotts, then it would be hell for everyone, both human and goblin kind.

And as the ruler of the goblins, for Ragnok, the survival of his own people was of paramount importance.

While choosing to aide the Dark Lord would only pay off in the short term and would fail spectacularly in the long term when Voldemort turned his attention to the goblins instead, and more importantly, would be morally reprehensible, choosing to side with the Light also made no sense.

Ragnok had observed that the Light was splintered in so many different ways that it was laughable to even think that there was a united opposition to take the Dark Lord down.

And openly supporting the Light would mean that they would be leaving themselves to be attacked, which in turn would only cause more and more problems.

No, the best would be to stay neutral.

At least from the outside.

If nothing else, for its own survival, the goblin nation would need to ensure the total and utter destruction of Voldemort.

They had their own brand of magic.

They had their own set of skills.

Unfortunately, they would have to remain neutral.

At least from the outside.

It was for matters on the inside that Ragnok was wondering how to best talk to Mr. Potter. Obviously, he couldn't just spring it on the young man.

And since most of the humans in the bank did not recognize Ragnok, it was best that he did not reveal himself either.

Ah, he had just thought of the perfect excuse to set up a follow-up meeting with Mr. Potter once his vault visits were done.

"Mr. Potter. Good morning to you as well! As you are already familiar with one of our staff members, I shall ask Griphook to take you down to your vaults if that is fine with you?" A nod was his reply with a softly uttered "Thanks!", before Ragnok continued.

"I believe we have much to discuss Mr. Potter especially about your accounts. Once you are done with your vaults, if it pleases you, could you please call upon me, Occamrazor, to go through the audit of your accounts?"

Seeing the look of worry on Harry's face, Ragnok quickly continued, "There is nothing to worry. This is standard procedure that we extend to all of our clients, particularly ones that will be reaching their majority soon. As you will be considered an adult in the wizarding next July, I think it is best that you receive this information now"

Ragnok was glad that he did not have to lie. Well, not outrightly.

True, the goblins did usually discuss the audit of accounts with their clients.

True, the goblins did make sure that the wizard or witch reaching majority soon was well aware of their accounts in case they were orphans.

False, the goblins did not extend this to all their clients. In fact, it was done only to those who were of the Noble Houses in the wizarding worlds as they were the only ones with possible contentious vaults that they needed to be made aware of.

False, the goblins would generally take a fair bit of time to conduct their audits. The reason for the delay was more to do with the passive-aggressive behaviour of the goblins than the actual time needed to do the audit itself.

Ragnok had been mightily relieved that Mr. Potter had agreed to meet up with him, though he could see that something had tickled Mr. Potter's fancy.

Deciding to ask him about it later, Ragnok called for Griphook and sent him off with Mr. Potter after a quick conversation in their native tongue (which actually wasn't Gobbledegook) to bring him to one of the office rooms that was used for the very same purpose to hold audit finding meetings.

Once Mr. Potter had set off on his errand, Ragnok had gone to his own room, deep within Gringotts and had summoned the account managers for both the House of Black and the House of Potter.

As the House of Black was far more wealthier than the House of Potter, even though they could roughly trace their origins to the same time period, there were two people who were overseeing the Black account. The Potter account on the other hand, was being seen to by a single person.

The three of them were in Ragnok's room awaiting his presence.

The person taking care of the Potter account was a goblin by the name of Sharpknife, a gritty and rather cynical goblin who was very good at his job.

The person taking care of the Black account was a goblin by the name of Bluntaxe, a slightly uppity and snobbish goblin who too was very good at his job.

Bluntaxe was assisted in his endeavour of maintaining the Black accounts by a human who had joined them just over a year ago and had proved to have quite the knack for dealing with numbers and with goblins.

None had doubted her powers with a wand. She had shown ample skill with it in her final year of schooling.

As the champion from Beauxbatons.

Fleur Delacour.

Each of them bowed to Ragnok as a manner of respect and greeting and Ragnok did the same. He might be their ruler, but beyond titles he believed in respecting individuals as well.

Ragnok had then led them outside and to the meeting room that he had arranged, all the while explaining to them in their native tongue the series of events that had transpired upstairs. It was an unwritten rule that all conversations in Gringotts, except the ones with the customer, were to be done in the goblin's native language.

They had gotten themselves seated and Ragnok began going through the Potter account first, as it was the smaller of the two. Most of the transactions had been straightforward. No unexplainable transactions. Regular interest credits and regular expenses.

They were just about to start with the Black account audit when there was a knock on the door and Harry entered feeling quite awkward and a little lost. Griphook, who had held the door open to announce him to the people within bowed to all of them and left, but not before being surprised by Harry's bow in return. Once Griphook had left, Harry had bowed to each of the four members in turn and when he had seen Fleur, he had walked up to her and shook her hand.

Fleur had been pleasantly surprised to see Harry there. Her opinion of the "leetle boy" had changed ever since the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament and she greeted him warmly and helped make the introductions to the others.

When she was about to introduce Ragnok to Harry, Harry grinned prompting the leader of the Goblin nation to ask him why he was grinning.

"No offence to you sir, but the name you had picked for yourself told me immediately that it wasn't your name but something which you had come up with on the spur of the moment. In the muggle world, there is a saying called Occam's Razor, which essentially states that the simplest explanation is almost always the most likely cause of the event."

Ragnok also began to guffaw loudly, telling him that it was indeed the first time that he had used the name and that the next time he would try to use something that did not have such an Occam's razor explanation in the muggle world.

He then proceeded to tell Harry his real name and hearing that Harry very nearly fainted. Much to the amusement of the other three males in the room, Harry had had to be supported by Fleur for a short period of time.

Eventually common sense and manners caught up with him and Harry bowed deeply to Ragnok and apologized profusely for having taken the mickey out of the ruler of the goblins.

Ragnok though just laughed the whole issue off before turning serious.

"Now let us get down to business. As you are well aware for goblins, time is money and so we like to jump right into the important stuff as quickly as possible.

I believe you have received a letter from us a while back. It was sent in accordance with the late Lord Black's wishes which he had outlined in great detail.

We at Gringotts do not know the contents of the letter and we do not wish to know. It has been the preferred way of operation of Gringotts for a long time now and I see no reason to change the same.

Now, the reason we are here as I had mentioned to you earlier is to look at the audit findings of your accounts.

Allow me to introduce the various account managers one of whom I believe you already know. Sharpknife, who oversees the Potter account and Bluntaxe, who oversees the Black account. Ms. Delacour here assists Bluntaxe in managing the Black account as it is huge.

Now, I am sure you are curious as to why there are two personnel managing the Black account while there is only one for the Potter account. And I am sure you have worked out the answer as well.

Yes, the Black account is huge. In fact it is so huge that having a single goblin take care of it would be the equivalent of the death sentence.

And if you are confused as to why the Black account managers are also here, it is part of the late Lord Black's wishes as well. He instructed Gringotts to arrange everything so that you would become the next Lord Black. And as Gringotts recognizes Head of families based on blood and magic and not based on criminal records, Lord Sirius Black continued to be the Lord Black after the death of his father even though he had been imprisoned.

That would conclude the part of the meeting that I had stated to you."

At this, Harry's face shot up and his eyes narrowed at the leader of the Goblin nation. He had hoped there would be no deception with the goblins but it seemed like that was not the case. He was tempter to draw his wand but knew, after hearing it from Hermione, that drawing a wand in Gringotts on a goblin was as good as asking for a death sentence.

Harry said nothing but stared at Ragnok in anger. For his part, Ragnok did not so much as flinch and met Harry's gaze with his own.

Ragnok had realized the problem. The way he had phrased it made it sound like he had tricked Mr. Potter into the whole thing and now he was suspicious of the true motives of the goblins.

It was definitely not the type of tone he had wanted to set for the meeting as well as the proposed relationship.

Before the silence became any more uncomfortable, Ragnok decided to clear the air.

"Mr. Potter, please do not misunderstand us. Perhaps my choice of phrasing was poor. It is not that we were waiting for you from the outset and had decided to plan this meeting and other intricacies beforehand. In fact, I planned this only after studying you at the counter. The latter part of the meeting that I must stress is quite important came about entirely based on our interaction this morning. And as details of the meeting are best kept under wraps, for we too do not know just who might be listening, I had to come up with a plausible cover."

"The second part of the meeting I wanted today with you is something that cannot leave the confines of this room. This is for both our security as well as yours. You are not required to give an Unbreakable Vow or anything of that sort. Goblin magic will take care of that while you are within this room."

Seeing the eyes still narrowed and surmising correctly, Ragnok continued, "I assure you Mr. Potter that nothing will be done without your consent. Only once you agree to not speak of it unless given permission by me (and likewise if I wish to inform someone, I would need your permission), can the content be revealed. And no, unlike the Unbreakable Vow, the goblin version does not result in the death of the person who breaks the vow. We find it to be rather tasteless. There are so many ways to ensure that secrets don't get revealed than to kill the person involved.

In goblin magic, the person simply won't remember the exact content when talking to someone else about it. So you will be dancing around the issue for a while but will never be able to tell it.

Like I said, the choice will be entirely yours, but I am sure once I have given you an outline of the meeting, you will agree to be bound by the goblin charm"

Seeing his guest's face visibly relax and then a nod, Ragnok released the breath he did not even realize he had been holding.

After having paused for a sufficient amount of time and deciding to talk before the situation got awkward again, Ragnok began to talk again, "Let us get on with it shall we? It is going to be a long day ahead."

It did turn out to be a long day. While the Potter account was done quickly, the Black accounts took an exceedingly long time. Fortunately for Harry, Sharpknife, Bluntaxe and Fleur all ensured that they kept the language as simple as possible. This proved beneficial to them as well, as they ended up finishing the audit faster than they had expected.

Harry, hearing that had been horrified. If this was the short version, then he shuddered to think what the long version would be like.

He was also getting a little agitated. When he had left Privet Drive this morning, he had assured his Aunt that he would be back in time to do the gardening and would do double the usual amount of chores as payment for being dropped off in London.

And yet here he was, still stuck in London, with only the less important stuff out of the way.

Harry's agitation and nervousness was noticeable to all those who were present in the room. While Bluntaxe and Sharpknife were put off by it, deciding like most of their human customers, this one too seemed to want to be at a different place the minute his affairs had been completed, never mind the fact that it was the ruler of the goblins who had specifically asked for it.

Fleur and Ragnok on the other hand didn't share the sentiments of the other two senior members in the room. While Fleur was concerned that Harry was probably not aware that he was broadcasting his feelings openly and could end up triggering a huge diplomatic faux pas, Ragnok was worried that Harry now had second thoughts about the second part of the meeting.

Or as Ragnok thought about it, the main course of the meeting, after the appetizer that was the account audits.

Nope that was bad. Ragnok realized that he should rather stick to decorum. Clearly, jokes on food were not his forte.

Sensing all pairs of eyes on him and realizing that more than one pair seemed to be disapproving of him, Harry was more than a little concerned. He wasn't sure what he had done now to upset the goblins and he very much wanted to get out of this alive. He turned to the only other human in the room and cocked his head slightly, in a manner that conveyed that he was confused as to what was going on and would like an explanation if possible.

Fleur obliged and walked over to him and whispered in his ear.

For the goblins who were watching the interaction, it was a source of great amusement as Mr. Potter's eyes first went comically wide while simultaneously, his lips formed the shape of the letter "O" and his throat supplied the vocals for the same.

It seemed that Mr. Potter had finally been made aware of the grey line that he was currently treading

Hastily he looked at Ragnok and decided to make his situation known to him. "Ragnok sir, I understand that my actions just now might have conveyed the wrong message that I am not interested in the second part of the meeting that you had mentioned. I would like to assure you that that is not the case. While I am not sure yet whether I will take the goblin equivalent of the Unbreakable Vow, I am definitely interested in hearing what you have to say.

Unfortunately, in order to get to Gringotts I had to compromise on a few things at the place where I stay. Well, the compromise not exactly working in my favour anyway. And I had told me Aunt that I would be back by a certain time to attend to those chores. While I do not really fear their reaction to me being late, I would like to avoid the added unpleasantness if possible.

As I will need to travel back from London to Surrey, I am sure you can understand my worry that staying for the second meeting, again as you mentioned it, the more important meeting, while my concentration is on figuring out the fastest way back won't really work. Could I request that the second one be rescheduled to a later date? But I honestly am not sure when I will be able to make it next. Would sometime during the Christmas break at Hogwarts be too late?

I hope you will forgive me if I have spoken too much and possibly in a manner that is disrespectful to the ruler of the goblins. However, I hope you see why I behaved the way I did and seek your understanding in the matter."

Harry finished talking and looked about nervously. He had heard that goblins favoured eye-contact as they used it to measure both the conviction of the person they were dealing with and because they were able to determine whether or not the person was telling the truth.

And holding Ragnok's gaze was a little terrifying to Harry.

For a long while Ragnok did not speak, nor did he look away from Harry and break eye-contact.

Finally at length, he spoke.

"I understand your concern Mr. Potter and I can safely say that once we begin the second meeting, it will surely take a lot more time than you could possibly have at Gringotts today. However, I am particular that I speak to you today on this matter. Your Christmas break will be too late for us as I hope to have something achieved by then, again the something beng defined by the meeting."

Seeing Harry begin to fret over the fact that he seemed to be caught between the devil and the deep sea, Ragnok continued.

"Not to worry Mr. Potter. I shall ask one of our goblins to take you back to your premises." Sparing a quick glance at Fleur, Ragnok continued "No offense Ms. Delacour but goblin transportation, like its human counterpart is instantaneous and so we will be able to save you", he turned back to face Harry, "your travel time. It also has the added advantage that it will not be detected by your Ministry."

Ragnok carefully watched the body language of Mr. Potter when he had finished. He seemed to be relieved that a big burden had been taken off his neck.

Smiling broadly, Harry turned to Ragnok, executed a short yet deep bow and spoke, "What are we waiting for? Let's start!"

The next couple of minutes was spent not in discussing the plans of the Goblin king, but in the loud guffawing of the three goblins in the room.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: Al**

It was done. Finally.

He had battled for hours to get to this point. And in the end it was finished.

Tom was now one horcrux shorter. But Albus had no idea if the self proclaimed Dark Lord would feel the loss of it. All he could hope for was that he did not. If he didn't, then there would be no reason for him to move the rest of the horcruxes. And that was something that Albus was desperately hoping did not happen. It would be disastrous if it did. As it was he had no idea how many horcruxes he had created. Compounding the problem by constant transfer of horcruxes was something Albus wished to avoid at all costs.

But as it were, he doubted very much if he would live to see that. Granted, he had already known that his day of reckoning was near. But it had been sped up considerably with the heroics of today.

He had very nearly killed himself.

It had taken him multiple tries after having traced out the heptagon and the associated diagonal lengths to get to the literal point which would act as the entrance to whatever was being used to hide the horcrux.

Even that part hadn't been too difficult and as he had anticipated, he had needed to supply a fair amount of blood to act as the key to open recess on the ground.

The minute the recess had opened up completely, a small box had popped up with its lid open with an onyx coloured ring in the centre. This was no marriage proposal though.

Albus had felt compelled to put on the ring. It seemed to be the most important thing that he needed to do.

With the power he had already expended, the first to suffer had been the Occlumency barriers. As a result, the voice in his head that would usually advise him on such things was very nearly muted. He hadn't heard the voice strongly say that he shouldn't touch the stone.

The minute he touched the stone was when it had all gone wrong.

First, he could not pull his hand off the ring. It seemed to have been stuck together and no amount of pulling by Albus seemed to reduce the adhesiveness.

And that was when the second attack began. One that ensured that Albus' attention was so focused on the stone and its display that he would be blind to everything else.

For Albus, the sight the stone showed very nearly broke him down. For a person who had been instrumental with the development, construction and working of the Mirror of Erised, this should have been child's play.

But it wasn't.

For the simple reason that the mirror of Erised merely showed the heart's deepest desire.

It did not communicate beyond smiles and frowns.

It did not talk.

But the stone did.

And it had Albus' undivided attention.

Albus saw first his mother Kendra and then his sister Arianna appear before him. While initially he had been extremely happy to see them, not caring if they were illusions or spectres, that happiness quickly turned to despair.

Kendra's posture indicated her anger at her eldest and her voice was colder than the depths of Hell, and which had Albus shivering and shaking. She was dressed in her usual home clothes, but there was not even the remotest sense of warmth radiating from her.

Arianna on the other had was dressed in the clothes she had worn on that fateful day. The day she had died.

And the expression on her face was one of sadness and disappointment. It was clear from her looks that she held her brother responsible for her death and that she was severely disappointed in him.

Her voice had been hollow and had none of the sweet quality that he remembered. It served as yet another reminder to Albus that he had failed them all, had failed his family.

As if in response to the conclusion he had reached for the nth time, three more figures joined the fray. Aberforth, his father, and last but certainly not the least, Grindelwald, the one who had been responsible for Albus' life taking such a dramatic turn.

In each person's face he could see anger and disappointment in equal measure. He opened his mouth to apologize several times, but nothing came out.

In the meanwhile, the insults and the taunts were getting bolder and bolder.

Dumbledore fell in a heap, sobbing like a child. While his rational mind would have figured out that while he was responsible for their fate, the sorrow and depression he currently felt were unnatural.

Unfortunately for him, his rational brain had been drugged. The minute Albus' eyes had been locked on the spectacle in front of him, a thin needle had made itself known and had managed to keep its presence unknown when it jabbed into Albus' palm.

What should have served as a wake-up call for the powerful wizard had instead caused him to fall deeper into his despair with the potion in the needle doing further damage.

Albus could no longer separate reality from illusions. He had gotten back up (the spherical zone had dissolved the moment he had fallen to the ground) and was waving his wand about furiously with only a single thought.

I will save you all, I will make it all right, I will save you all.

He kept twisting and turning fending off demons that only he could see.

The potion in the needle had done its job exceeding well. It did not have to induce nightmares. It simply had to lower the resistance that people naturally put up against them.

On and on Albus fought, tiring himself as he fired weaker and weaker spells and the swing of the Sword of Gryffindor becoming more and more of a strain and a burden.

The saving grace for Albus was that while Tom had designed such precautions to guard his horcrux, he had been arrogant enough to think that no one would ever breach his fortresses.

The end result was that there was no alert system in place for Tom. Had there been, then it would have been a code red situation for him (not that he would have understood the muggle reference anyways)

It took a spell to the roof causing parts of it to crash on his head for Albus to come our of his daze. He looked around in shock at what he had done and the sheer amount of magic and spells he had used. No one would have any doubt now that magic had been used very recently at the Gaunt Shack.

Noticing that he still held the stone in hand, he quickly dropped it and watched fascinated as the forms of his family and former friend still stayed put, their sneers and unhappiness on their faces, still intact.

Hesitating briefly but having realized by now that they were illusions from the horcrux itself to make a mental wreck of the one who held it, he raised the Sword of Gryffindor high above his head and brought it down and jabbed the point with extreme force on to the stone.

It was then he realized that he should have applied a Silencing Charm somewhere.

Whatever was within let out a shriek that rivalled that of a banshee's as it cursed out loud and dissolved into a mist of green vapours that slowly faded.

The minute he had finished, he dropped the sword. A sharp pain had begun in his left hand, the hand in which he had held the stone and ring.

Belatedly he realized that he was losing all sensation in that hand and that it was steadily turning black.

At the same time he was overcome with a powerful wave of nausea causing him to throw up at first and then dry heave for a long while later. He realized that his body was also shivering and he was feeling extremely cold as well.

With rational thinking faculty having returned, at least to a fair degree, it didn't take Albus long to realize what had happened.

He had destroyed the horcrux and had paid for it with his life.

It was a deal he would be willing to take all over again of necessary.

Though he was sure he would prefer a lot less drama.

He had been poisoned, not that he was surprised about it. It had always been Tom's way of doing things. If he could incapacitate you in several ways, then you could be rest assured that he would do that in many ways (he wouldn't do the several, it would mean he had too little faith in the protective charms that he had placed).

Albus was now in a quandry. Looking around he realized that he had made a right royal mess of the whole place. In fact, his visit was now as evident as a china shop after a rampaging bull had decided to make a quick stop and a purchase, but someone had ended up waving a red flag in its face causing it to take out its rage on the wares in the shop.

He sighed. He realistically had only one course of action that he could possibly take.

And that was what he was going to do.

He sighed again.

He sighed because of the effort it was going to take for him to recast the Fidelius charm on the property. Not because he was going to do anything illegal (well not technically anyways; after all if one didn't know about the Shack, then there was nothing wrong in hiding it right?)

And it was going to eat into the time that he had before the effects of the poison became more prominent.

Technically, performing the Fidelius charm with just one person was risky. Because it involved a Secret Keeper who would have to divulge the knowledge, it was always best to have a second person so that any potential confusion once the Fidelius had been applied could be taken care of.

But right now he didn't have a choice.

Neither did he have time.

Rummaging through the pockets in his robes helped him locate a vial of Pepper Up potions (bless Madame Pomphrey and her insistence that teachers always carry a vial around in case they encountered any energy-sapping situation, particularly in these dark times) and downed it in one go.

With his energy now mostly back, Albus focused on the task in front of him and cast the Fidelius charm.

Once he was sure everything had been completed for the charm, he took a look around, nodded to himself and Disapparated.

Only to fall down vomiting blood at the back door of The Hog's Head before fainting.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18: Db**

The phrase used to be "Happy Holidays"

A time when one could have fun with friends and in general just laze about and not worry about too many things.

Or in his case, when it was usually a time for him to socialize with his peers and ride on broomsticks in the field behind their Manors when his and their fathers were busy discussing the political landscape of the nation.

And which he was sometimes required to sit through.

And which he had hated till date.

But now, he would have gladly have taken endless discussions on politics to what his summer vacation had been.

It had been no vacation.

It had been torture.

The person he was before the break, would now be a complete foreigner to him.

The person he was before the break would have been a child, perhaps not entirely innocent, but a child.

But now, he was well past that.

What he had been subjected to were things that no child would ever have to face, hopefully.

And it had all been over the course of a couple of months.

Draco sighed as he laid his forehead tiredly against the window pane. The glass was pleasantly chilly which helped immensely in cooling his forehead, one that he thought might burst from the sheer pain that he was experiencing.

He had survived another hour of Occlumency and Leglimency training by his aunt (he mentally spat as he said the word) Bellatrix. And what a trainer she was.

He had often wondered if there was something more to her than just the insanity for the Dark Lord's cause that he had heard (and as he shuddered involuntarily, never had experienced) about.

There wasn't.

She had a one-track mind. Actually that could be seen as two-tracks.

Restore the glory of the purebloods by wiping out the filthy mudbloods, half-bloods and other creatures which she considered to be vermin.

And the most important of the two, ensure the success of her favourite and only Lord, the Dark Lord.

Draco shivered again. Bellatrix had failed the Dark Lord at the Department of Mysteries, something that the Dark Lord had pointed out quite clearly to her.

And she had been furious with herself for that failure.

Naturally she had to take her frustration out somewhere.

Draco wanted to vomit once again at what he had seen.

He had been brought up with the idea that purebloods were superior to the others in every way.

And he had never questioned it. And he had been sold on that idea from the start.

That was why he had been particularly vicious to Granger and to Potter. In the case of Potter, it was not just the feeling of superiority, but a hatred that Potter seemed to be able to get whatever he wanted.

He had loathed Weasley because of his wealth. Or lack of it.

He knew he should be feeling far greater anger and hatred towards Potter now that Potter had managed to get his father landed in Azkaban.

And while that anger and rage was there, it was tempered with reason.

Oh no no, the pureblood had not suddenly decided to embrace (literally) those who weren't of the same blood status as him.

Not at all.

It was more to the fact that his father had managed to muck this up when he and eleven others, many if not all of them being Inner Circle members, went up against six school children.

It was a stupendous achievement that the six had remained alive and functioning long enough to have gotten back up.

And on top of that Potter had survived an encounter with the Dark Lord himself and had managed to send his father to prison as well.

Hatred wasn't the right emotion.

Anger and rage were.

Mixed with a liberal dose of respect.

It had led him to question his family's status itself. His father seemed to be just yet another minion of the Dark Lord, just one that he trusted a little more.

But for the most part, the Dark Lord trusted no one.

He used their money, used their manors and houses, and yet not a single pureblood who had supported his cause had come out on top.

To Draco, even at his age, it was very clear which way the battle was likely to go.

And he knew he had picked the wrong side.

A Slytherin would have played the two sides till the very end and would have come out victorious regardless of who had actually won.

He suspected his godfather, his Potions teacher and his Head of House at Hogwarts was one true Slytherin.

His father, not so much.

While he did have a silver tongue and was able to wriggle out of any situation and had managed to escape Azkaban the first time round, he had committed himself too much into the cause.

With distaste Draco realized that his father had shown more Gryffindor and Hufflepuff qualities than that of a Slytherin.

And because of his stupidity and overconfidence, Draco would have to take his father's place.

And it was for that that he was undergoing the torture sessions with Bellatrix.

His stomach churned once more as her recent activities came to mind again. He did not want to remember it, but he had long since realized that when you didn't want your mind to do something, it was precisely the thing that it did.

And as a result of his heavy Occlumency training, he was too weak to put up shields to prevent the thoughts from progressing.

He watched again as his aunt inflicted unspeakable horror after unspeakable horror upon those who had had the misfortune to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Men, women, even children she did not spare.

Again Draco's stomach churned and he felt the bile rise in his throat. Pushing his Occlumency barriers to their maximum and praying that dinner would be called for soon, he pushed the thread of thought away.

He would have really liked to have just eaten the meal in his room right away.

But no, that was no longer allowed.

The moment the Dark Lord had taken control of the Malfoy Manor he had made it compulsory that all meals be taken at specified times and in specific batches.

It wasn't that the Dark Lord was trying to make things more communal. Not at all. That idea was not even remotely close to what he had had in mind.

This way it ensured that the food he received was always sampled first by someone else and could be used to check if there were poisoning attempts that had been made.

And then eating in batches ensured that there was always a guard at the important places. Always an eye to ensure that no one sneaked up on the Dark Lord.

Finally there was the fact that he deliberately paired people who disliked each other to eat at the same time.

Not because he wanted better camadarie between them, no. But because the grouping would always be fresh in their minds and they would want to earn the Dark Lord's favor so that they could be promoted to the next circle.

It had led to most of them being particularly vicious.

And then there were the object lessons that the Dark Lord gave. Where the objects, who were really people, were tortured for the slightest infarctions or for having been born wrong.

Every night without fail the Dark Lord would have one such lesson.

Every night Draco would return to his room and then throw up his dinner.

That was the one saving grace for Draco. He was given his own room and that hadn't been taken away from him. Oh, the Dark Lord had tried, he wanted young Draco to be as indoctrinated as possible.

But thankfully the magic of the Manor would not allow it. And since it was ancient familial magic, the Dark Lord had had no say in the matter.

The object lesson that evening was something that Draco would never forget.

And he was sure a variant of it would haunt him in his nightmares and the dementor induced visions.

It was getting tired, this needing to pull up his Occlumency shields every so often, mainly because of what he had been subjected to.

In his opinion, they were horrors.

But to the Dark Lord and his dear Aunt Bellatrix, they were important lessons.

Draco hated every moment of his vacation. He was literally counting down to when he would be able to get on to the Hogwarts Express, hopefully before the Dark Lord assigned him any task.

But he knew that was just wishful thinking.

His mother had made it clear to him, well as clear as she possibly could given that they were hardly ever given time for private conversations, that the Dark Lord was going to be assigning a task to Draco.

He had heard nothing from his Aunt on the matter, which let him puzzled. Usually an assignment by the Dark Lord to a particular person was a sign that the Dark Lord had enormous belief in the person's abilities and was a sign of honour.

But his Aunt had said nothing.

Which meant there were only two possible reasons - one she did not know or two she had been told not to tell him or celebrate it.

He hated to think which was worse.

But his mother had dropped him enough hints (that woman was literally using every trick in the book to spend as much time talking to her son) that it would be a big task and that he would be expected to fail.

That was another evening he wanted to forget.

He wanted to run and hide and just wish everything away. But he knew that would never happen.

And then, his mother had had a brilliant idea.

Not with the task itself. But to help keep him alive.

She herself was unable to help with the task. She wasn't sure if she was even supposed to know of it and so she couldn't exactly plead her case to the Dark Lord (not that it would the slightest difference).

But every evening, once dinner was done and once dinner was returned back to the earth by Draco, a book would be waiting on his bed.

It was never the same book in the inside even though it would seem to be the same book on the outside.

And his mother had once again showed her sheer genius in it - the outer cover resembled the Malfoy Family Grimoire, which basically meant that anyone not a Malfoy (by birth or through marriage) would be at a risk of at worst, killing themselves, and at best would gibberish inside.

His mum had also enabled it such that the cover on the outside switched with one of his text books. After all, reading the family Grimoire for long periods of time was likely to lead to questions that neither mother nor son wanted to answer.

And when the book was one from his coursework, the inner content reflected the same as well.

But the topics were anything but his coursework.

His mum had been thorough. The first time alone, she had dropped by his room to let him know of the arrangements for the books lest he be scared. While he was not a voracious reader like Granger, he did read and he did read his school work while at home as well.

Hence the warning to Draco by his mum to keep up the normal facade, even though the content was way beyond NEWT levels.

And Draco had fallen upon it with a hunger that he had not known had existed within him for information and knowledge.

Defence Against The Dark Arts.

Advanced Potion Making.

Advanced Occlumency.

Advanced Leglimency.

Wandless Magic.

Non-verbal Magic.

And finally, the cream of the crop according to him, The Complete Animagus Transformation Guide.

He was going to make sure that he read through every single word in every single line in every single book till he understood its contents so well that he could recite it and perform the spells even if he were woken from slumber.

Two things had helped - one the fact that the books were all interesting and presented the subject matter in a manner that made it engaging for the reader, and second his mum's plan to only spring this on him once he had mastered the basics of Occlumency.

As a result, hopefully his Aunt and the Dark Lord remained unaware of his instruction.

At the moment, this was Draco's only way to survive.

And he would do whatever it took to survive in this war.

Briefly he contemplated if he should play the other side as well.

He was sure that he could convince that muggle-loving fool, Dumbledore, that he was truly repentant about his past actions and that he was willing to turn to the light now.

It wasn't going to be a very difficult role to play. He had become highly disillusioned with the whole Dark Lord saga.

And if he didn't feel repentence yet, then he would make sure that he damn well felt it at the time he met Dumbledore.

He really wanted to stay alive.

And it was time to prove that he was a Slytherin, like the hat had sorted him.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: HAl

There was still about ten minutes to go but he was pacing nervously up and down.

What if he didn't show up? He had promised to be there but what if he didn't show up? This was his ticket out of here and he had no intention of letting it go.

He only hoped the Headmaster would keep his word.

If you had asked him about it till this summer vacation, he would have categorically told you that he trusted the Headmaster in all aspects.

That he had never had reason not to fully believe the man.

But now, Harry wasn't so sure. Oh he knew that he was trustworthy. It was just the level of trustworthiness that needed to be determined.

And at the moment he was unsure where Dumbledore stood on that scale.

Deciding to pursue that matter for a later time, he focused on making sure that he had left nothing behind. He did not want to give Vernon and Petunia, his Uncle and Aunt, the pleasure of throwing anything away of his which would no doubt have been precious to him. (Every single item he had was a treasure to him and he had no intention of ever parting with any of it)

Assured that he had cleaned out his cupboard and whatever was beneath the loose floorboard, he looked over at Hedwig's cage.

He had sent her off earlier in the evening, as he knew that she would appreciate a long flight, a workout and a chance to hunt after having been cooped up for the vast majority of the holidays.

As he thought of Hedwig, he had the rather odd thought that perhaps she could read. He had no way to prove it and he wasn't sure if it was imagination or not, but he was sure that Hedwig had become more affectionate and protective of him after he had gotten Sirius' letter. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him, because he thought he had seen her reading the letter and then giving him a sad look as she finished it.

That whole thing had been weird.

Shaking his head, Harry came back to the present. The whole set of things that he had done had lasted about five minutes, giving him about the same amount of time to take his stuff down and await the arrival of the Headmaster.

His trunk wasn't heavy, but it was still quite a chore to bring it to the ground floor. His instructions had been very clear - under no circumstance was he supposed to drag the trunk along the floor.

Left with no choice, and balancing the rather bulky trunk awkwardly, he had just managed to bring it down the stairs when the five minute timer went off and the front doorbell rang, both at exactly the same time.

Vernon's shout of "Boy!" very nearly had him dropping the trunk onto his foot, but at the last minute he managed to right himself and place it down correctly.

And then placed Hedwig's cage on top of it which he brought down first in a rare moment of foresight.

Thanking whatever god had given him that advance warning, Harry hurried to open the door. He did not want whoever it was on the other side (and that would most likely be Dumbledore himself) to ring the bell a second time.

After all it was close to midnight and so, for probably the first time in his life, Harry agreed with his uncle that it was perhaps the worst time to pay a visit.

Looking through the peephole showed him an old bearded man, who looked extremely tired and had had probably very little sleep. At the moment he wasn't looking at the door but seemed to be peering at something in the bushes (Harry had no idea what he was looking at though, given the lateness of the hour, it would be very difficult to see anything there). He was dressed as always in robes whose colours would have been welcome at a circus, but not in general use. But then again that was how the man had always dressed. So it wasn't much of a surprise really.

Harry opened the door quickly. While it wasn't winter yet, standing outside at around midnight was never the best thing to do.

The minute the door opened, the Headmaster's eyes and body swiveled to face Harry with his wand outstretched.

For a moment Harry cursed himself. He had his wand in the back pocket of his jeans (something he knew would have driven Moody crazy) and not in his hand as the situation would have merited.

There was nothing spoken between the two for a short second. After which, Dumbledore while still pointing the wand straight at Harry asked in a voice that was filled with authority and which he had never heard directed at him.

"What happened to the phoenix in my office the first time you were in it?"

Harry barely paused before answering, "It burst into flames. I was very worried when I told you that I had done nothing when you chuckled and told me that Fawkes was approaching his burning day and that you were asking him to get a move on"

Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for just another second before nodding and putting his wand down.

In a flash, Harry had drawn his and pointed it at the Headmaster. He might have convinced the Headmaster, but he wanted to be doubly sure before he was.

Thinking long and hard, Harry asked him a question, the answer to which had always puzzled him.

"When I asked you what you had seen in the Mirror of Erised, what was your reply?"

Dumbledore too did not pause in his reply, "I told you that I saw myself getting a pair of woollen socks. I had bemoaned that year after year people kept giving me books and all I longed for was a pair of good quality woollen socks."

Satisfied with the Headmaster's answer, Harry put his wand down but still gripped it tightly.

He might be convinced that this was indeed Albus Dumbledore. He might be convinced that this was amongst the greatest wizards that the magical world had seen.

But after recent events he sure as hell was not going to let his guard down. Nor did he trust the Headmaster completely.

It was always better to be safe than to be sorry.

The feelings coursing through Harry were mixed. On the one hand he had felt relieved that Dumbledore had kept up his promise and had arrived arrives exactly as promised and he was glad to see him.

On the other hand though, it was still hard for Harry to digest some of the things that Dumbledore had and hadn't done.

And it was going to take a while before his emotions could settle.

Dumbledore too seemed to realize that. While his eyes had been steely the time he had asked his questions, they were now tired and resigned. It seemed like the proverbial wind had been knocked out of the man's sails.

Realizing that they were still standing outside in the cold and surprised that his uncle hadn't yelled at him yet, Harry hastily ushered Dumbledore into the house.

Vernon, who had been getting impatient with the worthless boy's slowness in attending to the door, was striding angrily in the direction of the entrance when he froze.

Dumbledore had just walked into the house.

Vernon knew that Dumbledore would be visiting today. He had informed them well in advance. And while it had irritated Vernon to no end, he was glad for it.

It meant that the brat would leave and they would have completed their end of the bargain for this year.

Nevertheless it was still overwhelming for Vernon Dursley when he faced Dumbledore.

Oh it was not about the power contest. That one there was arguably one winner.

It was the way the man dressed and the way he seemed to flaunt his freakishness that caused Vernon to pause.

He remembered the time from five years ago when that man calling himself Hagrid had decided to transform Dudley into a pig. Both father and son still had nightmares about it.

No, while he was glad that the freak would be out of his hair soon, it was unnerving to have a bigger freak in the room.

Harry had watched with interest. He had expected his uncle to blow his top, but surprisingly the man seemed to have frozen.

Interesting.

Dumbledore for his part seemed to pay no mind. He cheerfully looked around, although his eyes still retained their tired look, bade Vernon a good evening and continued surveying the house. One would think that he had come to inspect the house and enquire if it were for sale rather than having to escort a teenage boy somewhere else.

Dumbledore started humming a tune to himself. Harry had no idea what tune it was and wasn't very keen to find out.

What he was keen to find out was why his Aunt Petunia had not come down to the living room. Dudley he could understand, his cousin was still very scared of wizards, particularly ones that radiated power and could change you into a pig at a whim.

But his Aunt? He had no idea.

Finally, after what seemed like a long time, but in reality was just a couple of minutes, Dumbledore turned his full attention to Harry. Raising an eyebrow, which seemed to ask the question in itself ("Are you all set and ready to go?") and receiving a nod in response, Dumbledore too nodded back.

His attention then turned to Vernon Dursley, who seemed to be building himself into a rage and whose face was turning more and more purple with every passing minute.

Dumbledore's voice, when he spoke, was ice cold and it was interesting to see the shock and the colour drain from Vernon's face at Dumbeldore's words.

"Listen Mr. Dursley, and listen well. I am not going to repeat myself. For far too long you have seen me as an extremely soft-spoken person. But always remember that the ones who are most effective are the ones who talk softly and carry a big stick. Being a wizard, I daresay I have to remind you that I do carry the latter.

I had asked you and your wife all those years ago to take good care of the child left at your doorstep. Was it wrong on my part to have just left the baby at your doorstep with simply a letter by means of explanation? Yes, it was. I have no qualms in admitting that now. I did what I had thought was best at that point of time. Given a chance to revisit it, I would have done it better.

But know this Dursley. I would have still left that child, that stands beside me as a fine young man today, with you. Not because I wanted to sentence him to a horrible life. But it was the only way to ensure both your safety.

Yes Mr. Dursley. The very reason that you are still alive is because I had placed young Mr. Potter here and invoked ancient protection. Were it not for that, you would have been dead that very night Voldemort had fallen. Make no mistake about that"

Turning to Harry, Dumbledore continued, "I must apologize again Harry. I should have done this in a much better way. But I did it in a way I thought best and in the most time-efficient way that I could think of. I see now that I should have had far more checks and balances in place. But I still stand by what I told your uncle. That you both remain alive only because of the ancient magic that was invoked when I placed you here the first time. The protection that stems from the common blood that the Potters and the Dursleys share - the blood of the Evans."

Harry said nothing, his face remaining stoic and impassive. Dumbledore, not used to not receiving a reaction from Harry, but happy nonetheless that there had been no shouting, continued just before Vernon was about to open his mouth in rage.

"Again Dursley, listen good. The terrorist Voldemort is back. And unfortunately for both your family and Mr. Potter, he used the blood of Mr. Potter to resurrect himself. I do not know the details of the ritual nor do I think it is necessary for you to know.

What you need to know is that your lives are in danger. One can argue that your lives were in danger since last year, the end of Mr. Potter's fourth year, when he came back to a body form. But the past year, all through Mr. Potter's fifth year, he had been moving very stealthily.

But now his cover has been blown wide open. And he was confronted and defeated again by your nephew who stands before you. Your nephew, who you deem to be worthless and a freak has been the reason why the terrorist has been kept at bay.

And now he is out in the open. You will be a target. He doesn't know you and doesn't care if you sympathize with him in your mutual hatred for Mr. Potter.

But he will use you, torture you to get Mr. Potter to come to your rescue and then kill you.

Make no mistake about that.

The blood protection that I had invoked will no longer stand if he decides to attack your house.

And again, make no mistake.

He has enough spies in the Ministry to know where exactly you live.

That is how your son, Mr. Dudley Dursley and Mr. Potter were attacked before the beginning of Mr. Potter's school year.

Take my advise.

Move somewhere else. Somewhere far away.

If you don't, it is as good as signing a death warrant for yourself."

On that ominous note, without even pausing to see what Vernon had to say, Dumbledore turned towards Harry and began to take a few steps in his direction.

That was when Mount Vernon erupted.

"You fool! It is all your fault! If you, this freak over here and all your freak friends hadn't entered our lives, we would have been so much safer! And now you have the audacity to tell us that we are in danger because you endangered us and we are supposed to flee our homes? Are you out of you f****ing mind? Who gave you the right to make decisions for us? I should have insisted to Petunia that we leave the boy at an orphanage! But no, she had to overrule me on that one and now we are in danger! All for something we don't believe in and are not a part of! You absolute bastard!"

Vernon took a couple of steps towards Dumbledore who hadn't moved a muscle nor had the expression on his face changed. When Vernon went to grab the Headmaster's left hand (the hand that was closest to him), he pulled back and it was in that moment that the hand was revealed.  
Vernon, who had been walking towards Dumbledore with determination in every step stopped in shock.  
Harry, who was still standing next to his trunk, too looked on in utter bewilderment.  
Where there normally was a full length arm flesh coloured arm, there was one that seemed to have shrunk and had at the same time been blackened. The robes had done such an admirable job of hiding the issue that neither Harry nor Vernon had noticed anything amiss.  
Now though, it was a different story.  
Seeing that both the other occupants of the room were now focused on his arm, Albus cleared his throat to bring their attention back to him.  
"As you can see Mr. Dursley, that is not the hand I would want to battle you with. If it will help you, you may throw a punch at me. But please spare my nose. It has been broken too many times that I fear that one more punch on it and even magic will be powerless to help." Here he paused, hoping his attempt at some self-deprecating humour would work. It didn't.  
Both continued to stare alternatively at him and at his left hand, although it was clear that Dursley's shock was slowly evaporating and rage once more was taking its place.  
"Again Mr. Dursley, you heard only what you wanted to hear. You assumed that you were brought into danger because of my actions and because of young Mr. Potter here? Did you even hear what I had told you properly? Clearly you did not. For if you had, I had mentioned very clearly that the only reason you are still alive and haven't been attacked is because of Mr. Potter's magic and the Evans blood. Let me tell you that if Mr. Potter were not here, then it would be next to impossible to hide you from the allies of Voldemort and you would have been hunted down faster than you can count from ten to zero."  
"I have said it once and I will say it again. I hope I do not have to repeat myself again after this and that everything will be crystal clear after this chat", Dumbledore said with authority in his voice while peering over his half moon glasses. Seeing as he had limited options, Vernon nodded jerkily. The old bearded man had stayed consistent in his story - even the first time he had mentioned that the survival of the Dursleys was only possible because of the presence of the brat. And while his rage had been genuine, Vernon had also been hoping to catch the Headmaster off guard and see if he would balk and spin a different tale under pressure. Credit to him though, that his story had remained the same as ever. Which meant one of two things - He was either an exceptional actor capable of reacting to people's emotions effortlessly, or he was telling the truth.  
Vernon couldn't figure out which was worse.  
Dumbledore continued, "So as it stands, it is in your best interests to move out of this location quickly. Personally, my opinion is that you should move out of the country itself to reduce chances of being attacked. Make no mistake. He will come. He will take you and use you as bait to lure your nephew. And then he will kill you. So move, when you still have the chance. Before it is too late. It is time for you to decide Mr. Dursley, which you value more. Your family and its safety on the word of the people you consider freaks or to be so stuck up in your ways of thinking that you would risk your family for the petty reason that you don't trust wizards and magic?", he finished, sounding rather ominous. With that Dumbledore turned in a flourish to Harry. Seeing that he was still gaping a bit at both the arm as well as the whole scenario that had played out on him, Dumbledore shook his head and waved his right arm in front of his face.  
Harry snapped out of the daze that he had been and looked at the face of the Headmaster with some shame. He had not meant to get so lost thinking about what had just transpired but that had precisely been what had happened.  
Nodding to Dumbledore, more from wanting to do something than stand and look around awkwardly again, Harry picked up his trunk and began to haul it off towards the main door.  
Just as he was about to open the door, his Aunt Petunia came down the stairs and into the living room. From the look on her face, it was pretty easy for anyone to tell that she was mightily annoyed. And Harry couldn't fault her.  
Uncle Vernon had very nearly yelled at the top of his voice when he was venting at Dumbledore. Harry was sure that it was very possible that at least a couple of neighbours had heard the monologue that Vernon Dursley had spewed. Not that they would have understood much anyway. They would probably have thought that Vernon was either being threatened or that he had finally lost it.  
It was Harry this time, who couldn't decide which was worse. Not that it really mattered to him. Quite a few interesting points had been thrown up during Dumbledore's impassioned plea to the Head of the Dursleys to save themselves.  
Harry only hoped that they would pay heed to the warning.  
Petunia took one look at Harry and Dumbledore, still standing in the confines of their house, and started shrieking, "Why are you freaks still here? And what have you said to my Vernon that caused him to yell at you? Did you threaten him? You, boy, after all these years that we have protected you, looked after you and sheltered you, you have finally shown your true colours haven't you? What did they say Vernon? DId they threaten to turn you into a pig or something like they did to Dudders all those years ago?"  
Now facing Dumbledore, but without pausing to take a breath she continued, "And you. Lily had the highest respect for you. I should have known that the only type of people that Lily would respect are people who threaten others. Just because you have an ability that I don't have and the woman I hate to call my sister had, you think you are so great aren't you? Get out of the house this instant! Both of you!"  
"And you, freak, you are no longer welcome in this house! Get out now and never darken our doorstep again!"  
Although Harry had never felt that Privet Drive was his home, it did gall him at some level that he was effectively being thrown out of the place he had grown up for fifteen years. And while he didn't agree with it, his mind could understand why the heart felt an ache as his only living relative banished him from their home. Dumbledore sighed. This was what he had hoped would not happen. True, he was going to get Harry out of here but the Dursleys had just committed the world's biggest faux pas.  
One that definitely couldn't be undone. One that magic would refuse to put back no matter how hard anyone tried Slipping back into authority mode, he locked eyes with Petunia this time round, "Petunia Evans-Dursley, you have just committed a huge blunder. For your sake I would hope that nothing transpires in the next couple of minutes. For if it does, then God save you my lady, for neither Harry nor I will be able to protect the three of you. I assume your son Mr. Dudley Dursley is in his room, hiding from us?"  
His tone grew a little cold and it was easy to see that it was laced with anger, "Due to your foolishness in your rage, you have uttered the words I had hoped you would never utter, at last not for the next couple of years when the whole thing could have been resolved more peacefully. All this while, your house was a soft target for Voldemort and his group. What you have done by effectively banishing Harry out of this home is that you have painted your house in flourescent colours and made it much more visible to be under attack. I hope you have a plan of action, because I fear that if we don't all leave from here within the next fifteen minutes, the next time we meet each other will only be in the afterlife, which for you and your family I am afraid Petunia, seems to be pretty soon"  
If the situation wasn't so serious, it would have been comical to see Petunia Dursley's face. The colour had receded from her face and she was now left gaping like a fish in the corner. Vernon on the other hand seemed to oscillate between being angry and despairing as he thought of some solution that his family seemed to have gotten into.  
After about five minutes, when neither Dursley adult had moved, Dumbledore had decided enough was enough. All those years of leading people to fight against the darkness had given him a keen insight into motivating people to get off their rears and do something productive.  
"Vernon, Petunia, grab your essentials, along with a couple of things for keepsake and memory and meet us back here in a couple of minutes. Clothing wise, take only the bare essentials. We do not have time for you to sort through and pack everything. Dudley also does the same."  
Turning to Harry, he asked, "Would you mind helping your cousin? I am sure your Aunt and Uncle will have their own hands full at the moment. It is no easy task to pack up and leave from a house that one has stayed in for over fifteen years"  
Seeing Harry nod and move towards the stairs in the direction of Dudley's bedroom had still evoked no reaction from the elder Dursleys.  
It was now time for Plan B.  
"VERNON! PETUNIA! NOW! MOVE MOVE MOVE! LET'S GO GO GO!", shouted Dumbledore in his best military trainer voice.  
That seemed to have had the desired effect as both reacted almost instantaneously (granted, their reaction had been like they had just received an electric shock), but they did run around in circles a little bit before hurrying towards different parts of the house.  
It seemed like that they had discussed this eventuality a long time back, for they moved rather seamlessly.  
Within ten minutes of the army sergeant's call, the elder Dursleys had gotten everything they thought they needed and had placed it near the front door. Harry and Dudley in the meanwhile were hauling a suitcase containing Dudley's things down the staircase.  
Harry was surprised. He had no idea that his Aunt and Uncle could react so quickly when tasked with this kind of an overwhelming situation. He had exepcted Uncle Vernon to rage and rage till the cows came home and to be resolute in his decision to stay back and not trust the "freaks". Apparently not. Apparently, his uncle was willing to believe the very people he loathed, to protect his family.  
Interesting.  
He had expected Aunt Petunia to also shriek and cower and try to protect Dudley from Dumbledore and himself. Yet there she stood, face streaming with silent tears as she seemed to understand the situation that had been placed on them and the finality of it. While Harry had known that she would most likely have trusted the "freaks" sooner than her husband, he was still surprised to see that there seemed to be no caustic and cutting remark forthcoming from her. Again, she too had placed the priority of her family before everything else.  
Dudley had remained quiet when Harry had entered his room and had explained the situation. He had certainly not been asleep, not wanting to take a chance and presenting an unguarded opportunity that wizards could take on him.  
At first he had been very skeptical about what Harry had told him. But the longer Harry spoke, the lesser had become Dudley's suspicions. The serious nature with which his cousin was conveying the message let him know that this was no joke.  
Or if it was, then it was an extremely elaborate and well-planned out one. If their roles had been reversed, Dudley might have played such a prank on Harry.  
Might have. That was the key and operative word. After what had happened around last June, he had realized that it was going to be plainly stupid of him to be cruel and vicious to someone who had pretty much saved his life.  
Dudley could still remember that day and on particularly depressive nights, it was the visions that he had seen during the attack of this invisible demon things that haunted him in nightmares.  
And Harry had single handedly defeated those creatures, had somehow managed to get Dudley up and had brought him home.  
No, there were so many ways that Harry could have played a prank on him if he wanted to.  
And no, this was no set up either. He had had countless opportunities to get back at Dudley. And Harry had not used a single one of them.  
Which meant that this was no false alarm.  
Which meant that he had about ten minutes to pack up a lifetime worth of goods.  
Which meant he had to get started on it right now.  
And for which he couldn't move a single muscle at the moment. His brain was sending him a dozen signals at the same time and if it were possible, he would have split himself into different parts heading in different directions like they used to show in the cartoons.  
He heard Harry sigh and knew that he was wasting precious time.  
Shaking his head vigorously, he got out of the temporary daze he was in and got to work.  
Harry watched in amazement as his cousin moved with a certainty and confidence that he had never seen before. Well outside of bullying people to do things for them, but at that time he wasn't under any time pressure, and was always accompanied by a crony or two.  
It seemed there was more to Dudley than met the eye.  
Much like his parents downstairs (something that Harry was unaware of), Dudley moved quickly and decisively. He seemed to know what exactly he wanted, though Harry had no idea how Dudley had matured so much. He wondered if camping and evacuation were subjects that were taught and practised in good detail at Smeltings.  
The backpack that he had pulled up was filled very quickly as well. And as Harry noted, unlike the Dudley of four years back, who had demanded that they take the television with them as they tried to avoid the tsunami of mails that Harry had been getting, Dudley left most of what Harry would have considered his prized possessions behind.  
The only exception was a card collection that Dudley was very proud of. And a couple of photos that had been taken through the years.  
Dudley was done in about eleven minutes and once done turned to Harry expectantly awaiting the next instruction in the evacuation procedure.  
Nodding to him, Harry pointed in the direction of the door and down the stairs.  
Dudley nodded in response and began to walk in the direction indicated, with Harry in front of him. As he passed the door, he turned around and gave a final look at his room, and hesitating to turn back to the direction of the stairs.  
He gazed around, his eyes conjuring images of the different things, happy and sad, that had happened in this very room.  
He stood there for a couple of minutes before he realized that it would do no good to keep dwelling on the memories and on the past.  
Tears streaming down his face, he refocused his attention on to the next task.  
Ensuring that his family survived this mess.  
Harry had reached the landing and had turned back to ask Dudley to put his bag next to the rest of the packed up stuff.  
But Dudley wasn't there.  
Harry was a little confused but then he heard sniffling come from above him and understood.  
Saying nothing, but realizing deep down in his heart that this was what leaving one's home must feel like, he walked further into the living room and to let Dumbledore know that Dudley was also done. He only hoped that his Aunt and Uncle were also done.  
He had heard his Aunt rush up the stairs to the master bedroom first, no doubt to collect whatever was needed.  
Which meant that it was up to Vernon to take care of the lower floor, including the kitchen.  
That made Harry pause momentarily. He had never seen his uncle spend more than a couple of minutes each day, apart from meals that he took there, in the kitchen. He had no idea if Vernon would even know what take.  
Harry sighed and decided to help him out. After all, they had to get a move on and if one extra pair of hands helped then it would be good.  
From the way the Headmaster had phrased it, Harry guessed that they really didn't have a lot of time. Whatever it was that he had constructed would apparently fail rather quickly.  
Picking up his pace a bit, Harry changed direction to the kitchen. When he got there he realized that his uncle did seem to know his way round. Some of the essentials had been taken while others has been abandoned.  
Harry's shock continued as he retraced his steps back to the living room and saw that his Uncle and Aunt were ready. He hadn't noticed coming down the stairs and into the living room, as he wasn't paying attention.  
But now that he did, he saw that the two of them had packed everything they had deemed necessary and where now waiting only for Harry and Dudley to join them.  
Harry quickly walked across to his trunk and made sure that he had not forgotten anything. Opening the trunk he double checked every single piece of item in there including the book by M.E. Mastor that Moody had given him. He rearranged it so that his invisibility cloak was at the top and could be taken out at a moment's notice if necessary.  
The book he pushed further down. He didn't know if Moody had sent the book on Dumbledore's orders or had done it himself and at this moment Harry wanted to neither give the Headmaster any new information nor did he want to confirm its existence and receipt unless Dumbledore asked for it specifically. Once all that was done, Harry locked the trunk up once again. He was again glad that he had let Hedwig out of her cage and had asked her to fly on ahead wherever it was that Dumbledore wanted to take him. Hearing noises behind him, he turned to see Dudley coming down the stairs and into the living room rather morosely. Harry didn't comment anything but turned to face the Headmaster again, awaiting his instruction. At the moment he was calling the shots, but this time round, Harry was sure that he was going to dissect almost all of the Headmaster's instructions from this point onwards to see if it was the best thing to do.  
Dumbledore noticed all the eyes were now focused on him and that all assembled had all their things ready. Satisfied with the progress, he nodded to himself and drew out his wand from its holster where he had put it back after questioning Harry and which he had subtly removed during the time of Vernon's rant.  
The Dursleys visibly paled and stepped back in fright as they saw the old bearded wizard draw out his wand. Dudley in particular began to shake in fear, memories of the pig and the ton-tongue toffee coming to the fore. For his part, Vernon though still every bit as apprehensive as the rest of his family members, pulled the other two behind him and put himself in between them and the Headmaster.  
Harry too had drawn out his wand, although it was a lot more subtly than the flourish that Dumbledore had employed. He wasn't sure what the old man was up to and it irked him that the Headmaster had drawn the wand with such pomp when he should have been careful about the effects such showmanship would have on the Dursleys. All Harry could attribute for his actions was that Dumbledore had drawn his wand while thinking of the next set of steps and so was not consciously paying attention to the flourish which accompanied the whole exercise.  
Harry was right. Although Dumbledore's eyes seemed to be focused on something, his mind was racing at more than a mile a minute, thinking, analyzing and discarding the next couple of steps. He needed to find the safest course of action so that the Dursleys could be protected.  
And since initially the main purpose of his visit had been to get Harry to the Weasleys with a stop on the way, and which now seemed to have become the second task, he had to find out a safe house for the Dursleys.  
Which was in itself a most difficult thing, but which was further compounded by the fact that he had very little time to work with.  
Deciding on a course of action, Dumbledore refocused his eyes on all those present to see a very strange sight - the Dursleys lined up one behind the other with Mr. Dursley at the head and Master Dursley at the rear and Harry standing to the side with his wand in arm pointed subtly in the direction of the Headmaster.

While Dumbledore wasn't shocked by the reaction of the Dursleys, Mr. Potter's stance, position and body language told him what he had been suspecting for a while now, right from the neutral reactions he had received from his this evening.

Harry Potter did not fully trust Albus Dumbledore.

Mentally sighing as he knew that this was bound to happen sooner or later, Albus decided to address all four of them in an attempt to soothe their nerves.

"My apologies to all of you, if my drawing out the stick put you on edge. That was not my intention at all. I was thinking about the different possibilities to ensure your safety and as I was lost deep in thought of that, I believe I ended up pulling out my wand in a manner that would have seemed hostile. You can be rest assured that I have no intention of harming you. Now I see that we are all packed and ready to leave, so let us do that next."

"Mr. Dursley", he focused entirely on Vernon as he spoke to him, "while I would prefer to travel entirely by magical means as it is faster, it will raise a lot of questions and it is always a risk when non-magical people such as yourself are involved. I think it is best that you drive for at least a short distance and we can figure out the rest as we go along. Travelling by magic would be traceable to someone who is so inclined and believe me, Voldemort can be very inclined to do certain things. No, I have no intention of using magic here and won't be using magic till we walk a fair distance away from the house and possibly into the neighbourhood."

Taking a breath, Dumbledore continued talking over what Vernon wanted to say. "Yes, it is a tough ask I know. And while I am probably going to spend precious time convincing you to see point of view, I think it is worth it. Before that though, Harry, I want you to stay prepared. Always have the wand in your wand arm and grip it firmly. Even when you are moving stuff, I would suggest you not loosen your grip on the wand. I maybe paranoid, but after being Alastor's friend for so many years the phrase, 'Constance Vigilance' does get to you doesn't it?", he asked with a slight chuckle, which Harry could not help but return.

Getting back to a serious mode, Dumbledore continued to speak , "Harry, as you may have noticed, I am not in the best of form to be able to wage any duels if we are caught in one. I can hold up, that isn't a problem, but I will not be able to help you and your family at the same time. So please, keep yourself on high alert at all times, and be focused on the task at hand. Here", he said digging into his robes and pulling out a small vial of liquid which Harry (despite being considered to be a dunce in Potions) recognised at once to be a Pepper Up Potion.

Harry raised an eyebrow even as he took the vial from the Headmaster. It seemed the old man had really come prepared for a wide range of scenarios and possibilities contrary to what he had claimed. Or that having to work on a bunch of different things one after the other with nary a break had taught him to keep supply of these potions readily available and accessible.

Downing the contents in one go, he winced as he remembered why this potion wasn't his favourite and how it had gotten its name. His face turned comically red and steam started to pour out of his ears, like the ones he had seen occasionally in cartoons.

All the while the Dursleys had taken a further step back and were looking at him with a mixture of amusement and fright. They weren't sure what exactly the potion would do and so were naturally worried that they would have to fend off a monster.

After a few seconds, though it felt a lot longer to Harry, his features returned to normal and the sweat on his face magically disappeared. In the meanwhile Dumbledore had asked the Dursleys to leave a letter with their neighbours that they had decided to go off on a holiday. Dumbledore instructed them specifically to not put in any dates nor places, even though the Dursleys knew that a note without much details in it would only serve as gossip fodder. But the Headmaster's idea had, at the very least, the advantage of letting their equally nosey neighbours know that they were on a vacation and were not away because they had committed some crime and so had to vanish without a trace.

Well, not entirely anyways.

Once that was done, Dumbledore opened the front door softly, making as little noise as possible to ensure that there were no surprise visitors loitering outside. Well, technically there was no point in him doing that as the noise level would increase the moment Vernon gunned the car's engine.

Harry and Dudley worked quietly and quickly to load all the luggage into the boot of the car. It was going to be a tight fit, even though the number of bags were limited. Vernon, whose shock over the events of the evening was wearing off and whose anger and irritation seemed to be building up again, focused on his usual pre-drive ritual - ensuring that the car was clean (he wasn't the only one in the family who was obsessive about cleanliness) on the outside, in the inside and that the windscreens (front and rear) were as clean as they could be.

He kicked the tyres of the car as well, to determine if there was enough pressure in them to ensure that he and his family had a good quality ride. It all seemed to be in order.

The boys were now unloading some of the bags, as they sought a means to fit in Harry's muggle universe unwieldy trunk into the boot. Veron very nearly shouted out, but caught himself just in time. They were all heading in the same direction for a decent distance as far as he could tell. And while he still disliked, no, abhorred magic, from the way the conversations had taken place, it was evident that the only chance of survival for his family was in the hands of the old bearded man and the freak, he meant nephew, not freak, nephew.  
He knew he would probably never like Harry, and he also guessed the feeling was mutual, but at the moment the least he could do was be civil to him. Again, because it seemed likely that the boy would be putting himself in danger trying to protect the three Dursleys.  
He turned around to call for Petunia and had very nearly called for her before he stopped himself. It was clear to him what was happening but he did not know what to do. He began walking slowly towards her though.

Petunia was on her knees, on the garden, looking at what had been their home from the time she had married Vernon with tears streaming down her face. She had not doubted what Dumbledore had told her. Even though she disliked Lily quite intensely and stayed away from her as much as possible, it was impossible for her to not chance upon some conversations of Lily's, a fair few of which focused on Voldemort.

And then Lily had been killed by the very same Dark wizard.

While Petunia didn't like her sister much, she was pragmatic enough to realize that Lily was the smarter one of the two sisters, while also the one with a fiercer temper. And if Lily, who had been thrown into a whole new world at the age of eleven and had still managed to top it could not find a way to get past this monster, then Petunia certainly had a less than zero chance.

And to improve her odds, she had to leave what had been her home for the foreseeable future.

What mattered to her was that her husband and more importantly, her son had to be kept safe.

If the situation needed her to sacrifice herself, she would do it without a second thought.

The only thing that she dreaded was Lily's temper on the other side.

Standing up while brushing off the tear tracks, she turned around to see Vernon walking towards her. From the expression on his face, she knew that he wasn't sure what to say to her or how to help her.

It didn't matter.

At the moment, the three of them were safe and they needed to get a move on to continue to remain safe.

She quickened her steps and walked towards Vernon, tapping him slightly on the shoulder and indicating for him to turn around to the direction of the car. He too seemed to have been lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard or seen Petunia approach him till she tapped him on the shoulder.

He too turned and together the married couple moved towards the car. They were pleased to see that all the unloading and loading had been done and the boys were standing next to the car looking alert.

Dumbledore, who too was standing next to the car, seemed to look extremely old and tired. But when he realized that the everyone was now done with their tasks and were looking to him for the next course of action, he moved with the speed of a man about half the age of Vernon.

"Right. We are all good to go. Mrs. and Mr. Dursley, if I could request you to deliver the letters to your two closest neighbours, 6 and 2 Privet Drive I believe, yes? Good. If you could drop the mail on their door, we can then be on our way."

"Actually, let me and Mr. Potter do it. Again, this way is a little safer. The three of you get into the car but don't start it yet. We want to make as little noise as possible."

The Dursleys quickly got into their car. The seating arrangement was different from what Harry had traditionally seen the family adapt, but there was no doubt that this would be the most efficient way.

Dudley had joined his dad in the front row, while Aunt Petunia had placed herself behind her husband in the car.

"Right, now let us quickly do this and then we can be off. Every additional minute we spend, just increases our chances of being attacked"

Moving in opposite directions, the Headmaster and the Boy Who Lived, dropped the messages through the flap on the door of the two houses and got back at about the same time.

Dumbledore followed Harry into the car, grimacing at its rather tight confines (made slightly more difficult for him by the face that Dudley had pushed back his seat a fair bit to accommodate his bulk), but still managing to sit in a very dignified manner. Harry had the temptation to ask Dumbledore if he had ever taken a ride in a car before or if this was the first time, but figured that it would be a better question for later.

Vernon started the car and within moments, they had pulled out of Privet Drive and then out of Magnolia Crescent. Not having been told explicitly where to to go, Vernon figured that it would be wise to stick to the coastal regions at first and then if necessary double back and take the Chunnel.

A couple of hours later, still early in the morning that it was, and when the night was at its darkest, a couple of distinct pops could be heard and along with that a couple of figures clothed in robes of darkest black with silver masks on their faces appeared.

To those who didn't know who they actually were, the masks would seem similar to ones that they would see in the movie Scream, a few months down the line.

But to the ones who knew who they were, there were only two options available to them - fight or flight.

The Death Eaters had arrived at Privet Drive.

It would not be an isolated incident.

Death Eaters had spread over to different parts of the country at the same time as well.

One of which was at Crawley where resided the resident bookworm of Hogwarts and the possibly the best witch in her batch – Hermione Granger 


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20: Ho**

He had managed to evade them again. He wasn't even sure if he was the one being chased, but the minute he had seen suspicious characters, he had upped and changed his hideout.

And it was tiring him.

He stayed in a place no longer than two weeks at a maximum and kept mostly to himself.

Well, he was forced to keep mostly to himself owing to the fact that he would stand out if ever went out in public.

The pureblood that he was, he never bothered to learn the muggle way of doing things. While that was all well and good during times of peace, it was a bad thing to be stuck with during a time of unrest and conflict.

He had very little places where he could blend in.

He sighed to himself. He should have paid much better attention to his muggleborn classmates and friends when they had told him about their adventures and way of living in the other world.

Truth be told, Horace knew that even if he were well equipped to survive the muggle world, he would still be moving at the frequency he was.

He was running from all possible danger.

He was also, trying to run away from himself.

With little success.

No matter how much he tried not to dwell upon it, his thoughts always drifted to that one conversation that he had had with his favourite student of that time, a Tom Riddle.

He knew, right from the start that Tom was playing him, with the careful flattery and the hesitation in the questioning.

He had always known what a charmer that boy was.

He had guessed what the consequences of him revealing that information would be.

Unlike what the others thought, Horace Slughorn was no fool. He had been the Head of Slytherin house at that time and there was often mysterious incidents that happened. Some of them pointed to a genius level intellect that were needed to accomplish them and Horace could think of very few who were so capable.

Of which one definitely stood out.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

If it took sheer genius to pull off those incidents, it required the same level of intellect to cover one's tracks as well.

Of which there was only one capable of doing that.

Again, Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He didn't know what had happened to that boy, but he hoped that the boy had failed in his quest to create those seven hor-, no he would not utter the word, those seven abominations that would tether their creator to the world of the living instead of moving on to the world of the dead when the time came.

But again, Horace Slughorn knew he was only kidding himself.

He was far smarter than what others gave him credit for and with a different set of skills, he had been able to piece together the stories of Tom Marvolo Riddle and Lord Voldemort. Again, connecting the dots he had realized that his former prized student was definitely the one who had become the dangerous and utterly evil Dark Wizard, in fact the darkest of them all till date.

And Horace knew he had had a hand in creating that monster.

And so Horace had started drinking.

Oh, never so much that he was sloshed all the time.

Just enough most of the days that he could forget this incident.

That he had the blood of hundreds if not thousands of men, women and children on his hands.

A stain that could never be wiped off.

One of which happened to be another of his favourite students and a near prodigy in the class - Lily Potter nee Evans.

All because he had been hoping to get favours from the boy at a later date.

He could not fathom how he could have been so blinded by his own desire and not see the big picture. He had had access to so much of the boy's records, and although much of it was clean and in fact rather stellar, he had done nothing to inform someone else, particularly after the hor-, no, abomination episode.

He had continued on as if nothing had happened.

But he was sure that everything had changed following that conversation. Whatever Tom had been planning till that point was probably only child's play once he came to the conclusion that the more of the abominations one created, the more certain one could be of avoiding death.

Shaking his head, Horace forced the issue out of his mind. He could not afford to get drunk trying to forget the past now.

His two weeks in this place were up and he would have to move soon.

And he wanted to move soon even if the two weeks were not up.

He knew an old friend and colleague would be actively looking for him. While Horace knew that part of the reason was because the old colleague, now Headmaster, needed a new teacher at the school, he also knew that the friend in Albus wanted some information from Horace.

And while he had indeed been hiding effectively, Horace knew that if Voldemort wanted to find Horace, he would be able to do so easily.

Horace was sure that Albus would dangle the carrot of the security provided by Hogwarts as another incentive for him to resume his teaching position.

Again, Horace knew the implications of such a move.

He would probably be bumped up from Minor Annoyance to Annoyance to Be Exterminated if Possible on Voldemort's list, if there was one. Idly he wondered how big both sets of lists were, and if Voldemort even had a Major Help and Best Friends Forever list entries. He suspected that the second category would not exist and for the first, Voldemort wouldn't acknowledge any or even if there was a debt that he had to pay, he would pay it off in a different manner.

Horace sighed again. He knew what he was going to do. He also guessed who Albus would try to use in an effort to get him to resume his old teaching position at Hogwarts. Horace would let Albus play his game, let him think that he had been tempted by the prospect of teaching the Boy Who Lived or the son of Lily Evans son and had made the decision to return back to Hogwarts.

But it was a decision that Horace had made a long time ago.

It was a Slytherin thing to do, naturally, cunning and ambition being their most well-known traits.

Courage and bravery were not and so he was going to make sure that he publicly declare his support to Dumbledore, even though implicitly and tacitly he would be supporting for the Headmaster and the Boy Who Lived. He did not want to be murdered in his sleep by Voldemort or his followers. There was no point in achieving anything if you were dead. And Horace was sure that he still had a lot left to achieve.

Loyalty and friendship too were not his strong suit. But there was a small part of him that knew that he owed Lily Evans and the many that had come before her that had been his favourites and yet targets of Voldemort's ire and displeasure in one form or another.

He owed it to Frank Longbottom.

He owed it to Lily Evans.

He owed it to himself to make amends for the mess he had made so many years ago.

But he would ensure that he survived through this coming storm.

With that thought set in his mind, and with a renewed confidence, Slughorn packed his single suitcase with a wand (he had broken into a magical home in a muggle town and so there was going to be no problem with using magic here) and then Apparated to the new place that he had found on his travels yesterday.

Along the way he made sure to leave bread crumb trails that only Dumbledore would understand.

After all, he needed the Headmaster to try and coax him into accepting his old position at Hogwarts, didn't he?

A/N: Updates will now be once every two days, partly because I am busy with other things and to buy myself some more time for the sequel. Cheers


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21: Ar**

Dumbledore is running late. That is in itself an unusual occurrence as he usually kept to the time he mentioned.

Of course there have been times when he was inevitably delayed, but in each of the situations then, he had let whoever he was supposed to meet next know that he was running late as early as he could and profusely apologizing for the same.

It is one aspect of the man that I particularly liked.

Compared to the rush and the tension in reaching places at the last minute, particularly the train station when I go to see off my kids with my wife.

It is a trip I have been making every year for the past decade or so now. I haven't been really calculating how many years I have gone for.

It has become an annual ritual and once something becomes an annual ritual, that is something that you possibly don't want to change.

It is going to be hard in a couple of years though, when the last of my kids would have also finished schooling. They would all be adults, would be of age.

I do hope that at least a few of them decide to stay with us. That is what I would like, but I think I am also practical enough to realize that if they wanted to move out and find their own space, they are most welcome to do that as well.

Ah, look at me. Being all melodramatic and sentimental.

It is something I never become.

I must be becoming old.

And all my previous training must have worn off by now.

Being assigned to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office wasn't particularly something I looked forward to when I got my posting.

But then again, they needed eyes and ears at all places.

No, not the Ministry itself.

This is for the Unspeakables.

Yes, you got that right. I am/was an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries before I was given this assignment to stay at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office.

Arthur Weasley here, at your service, by the way.

Ah, you didn't expect that? You expected that I am just another simple minded man going about my life?

Part of it is true, I am a simple minded person.

For most part what you see is who I really am. I really do have a great interest in muggle stuff. I collect plugs because I find it fascinating. And although I have never spelt electricity (hang on a second! I just spelt the 'e' word perfectly! Hurrah!) correctly before now, it doesn't mean that I am any less enthusiastic about it.

What is hidden is my above average intellect.

Molly does a fair good job of it as well. She too is quite intelligent, though I think I am s shade smarter than her in the intellectual sense. Don't be fooled by her personality.

She deliberately chooses to be a little loud and obnoxious in the hope that you underestimate her. But don't be fooled by that.

You do realize that the brains behind Bill, Charlie, Percy and the Twins had to come from somewhere. (I still strongly believe that Ginny had potential. She is a lot like her mother, what she projects isn't a true reflection of her strengths. Ron on the other hand, seems to be the odd one out, although he is definitely a prodigy in the game of chess)

Oops. Looks like I have probably spoken too much about her already.

Things that she would definitely have preferred I keep my mouth shut about or at the very least let her do the honours for.

Oops.

It isn't of much concern though. I will explain it to her later.

For the moment, let me explain why the act.

Very simple.

To protect the family.

The Weasleys have been around for a very long while and while we have never had the same power or status as say the Malfoys, the Blacks or the Potters, we have been a fairly influential family.

But then circumstances changed. One of our ancestors ended up gambling away the family fortune leaving most of us with a pittance if not a loan to repay. And when you don't have that much money, your influence reduces significantly. As the muggles are wont to say, power and influence are both a function of money.

As time went by, we still made sure our voices were heard when we felt something was wrong. But then we noticed a problem. Every time we opposed, our numbers would go down.

And since the wizarding world only cared about pureblood families with money, the destruction of the Weasleys became less and less of a news item to more and more of a footnote, before being ignored completely.

Which left the rest of us with only one choice - to play dumb.

Oh, if you came and spoke to us, we would give you our honest opinion, but otherwise we kept to ourselves and didn't make ourselves heard like before.

And it paid off for us.

We managed to survive.

So you see, for the most part, we play the role of the dumb wizard to protect the family.

You can of course question if there wasn't an ally or friend of House Weasley who could have come to our aid. The short answer was no.

There were offers of help, notably from House Potter, but in most cases House Weasley refused the help.

We were too proud to seek help when we truly needed it.

And we paid for it dearly.

From that time on, we have always made sure to underplay our intellect, and when needed and as far as possible provide anonymous help.

We do not want to become victims again.

Anyways, where were we? Ah yes, Dumbledore is late.

Surprising, but the man did say he had a couple of errands to run.

And that he would be bringing Harry with him to stay with us for the remaining short period of the summer break.

Unfortunately, we couldn't have him here earlier. Again, Dumbledore did not make his reasons clear and interestingly enough, Harry himself did not make it as clear like the last time.

Perhaps he had grown to anticipate that we would come and get him only when we ourselves had gotten the word.

Molly was extremely agitated over that, I remember quite clearly.

To her, Harry is another son and she sees him as such.

And Hermione, another daughter.

The two have stuck by Ron's side and Ron has been their side for the most part of five years now. And considering that they both have spent a lot of time with us over the past five summer breaks, I guess it is but natural to think of them as our family members as well.

In fact, Molly had repeatedly asked both myself and Dumbledore if she could invite Hermione's parents as well. She wanted them too to feel included in the strange new world that their daughter had been sent to.

While I had no qualms about it, Dumbledore had been a little reluctant. I do not know why, nor did I ask him the reason for it, but every time Molly brought up the topic, he would always use the delaying tactic and say it wasn't the time now and that the right time was approaching soon and would quickly change the subject.

Eventually both of us stopped asking about it and Dumbledore has not mentioned a word to us on that topic since.

I don't understand the man at times.

Again coming back to the point, I hope they get here quickly. Harry's birthday celebration did not take place this year, and so we want to do it when both he and Hermione are here. Hermione has promised to visit us over the next couple of days.

The Weasleys, at least the ones from my loins, will be here.

Well mostly.

Percy is still too stuck up in his way of thinking that I doubt he will attend. Molly had insisted that I extend the invitation to him as well, and so I had.

But I really hope he doesn't turn up.

That boy's adherence to the rules and being blind to the obvious is seriously mind-boggling. I have no idea how he ended up that way.

And to think of what all he had told me, that I lacked ambition and that was the reason we were still poor.

I can still hear those words in my ears. I doubt I will forget them for a long time.

Dumbledore is very late. I really hope it is nothing serious that is holding him up.

And I hope Harry is keeping well too. I have been meaning to write to him the whole of the summer, especially to make sure he is alright after the tragedy around Sirius, but I haven't written that letter.

I need to have a long talk with him about everything. He has been alone for far too long now. I know Ron sent him a couple of letters, and like I said, I should have too.

But no point crying over spilt milk.

Look into what needs to be done. In the case of the milk, vanish it and start over.

Sirius' death was a disaster. I was completely taken unaware by it.

And to think Harry rushed to him because he believed the vision to be true. How could he not after he saved my life after my rookie mistake during guard duty.

I still don't know what it was that I was guarding (not everyone who works for the Unspeakables knows what is there in the Department of Mysteries. Except for a select few, the rest do not know what happens in the other branches in the Department)

But what I do know is that I should never had fallen asleep on the job no matter how tired I was.

I should not have fallen asleep. Perhaps then, Harry would not have rushed to the Ministry believing his vision to be real.

Perhaps then, Sirius would not have rushed to the Ministry absolutely sure that his godson needed him.

Perhaps then, Sirius would not have fallen through the Veil.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

No! I will not dwell on the perhaps! I will dwell only on what happened and prepare for what is to come.

It is possibly the time now for the Weasleys to shed the image of underachievers that they have built over the years.

It is time to fight back.

As cliched as it may sound, now was the time to take a stand.

And as Harry seems to be at the centre of that fight, I need to talk to him. Make sure that he does not bite off more than he can chew.

Dumbledore is late. And I am getting worried.

As I begin to conjure a Patrnous to send to Dumbledore to ask him where he is, one arrives towards me.

Relieved that it was Dumbledore himself with a message I cancel mine.

As the Patronus approached I notice that it is one that I have not seen before and it definitely was not the Headmaster's.

The message it delivered knocked the wind out of my sails. The only thoughts going through my head, even though my body was automatically moving were 'No! No! No! This can't be happening!'

I knew I had very little time to react.

Quickly conjuring my own Patrnous, I sent it to the remaining members of the Order as I rushed upstairs to find Molly and ask her to prepare for the worst.

I only hope that we reach the place in time.

The message the Patronus carried was a simple one: "Help me! Save us! Death Eaters are attacking my home!"

The Patronus was shaped like an otter.

The distraught voice in the Patronus was that of my daughter in everything but blood - Hermione Granger

A/N: The idea for Arthur Weasley's 'secret' role was inspired from one of the stories that I had read on . Unfortunately, I do not remember the name. If you do find out the name, drop me a message and I will credit the story and author for the original thought


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22: F**

It had been a long day at work.

One of the many long days that she had had recently.

And she knew that it would continue.

She sat at her table sipping her tea (something that she had become quite used and had replaced wine with, much to the amusement of her family) and wondering about the events that had unfolded recently.

Things seemed to have happened at a far faster pace than what she had expected.

Especially after the Triwizard Tournament.

Fleur Delacour sighed.

That wasn't something that she wanted to think about. She had signed up for the glory of being a Triwizard contestant and then the Triwizard Champion.

But the whole experience had been something that was totally different. Something that her seventeen year old self had not been expecting. It turned out, in a way, to be the coming of age ritual for her.

Cedric's death. Harry's anguish. Viktor's befuddlement.

Everything kept coming back to her during her dreams on the nights that she was particularly tired.

She had wanted to do something in the year after the Triwizard Tournament was held to help Harry. Fleur couldn't understand how petty the British Minister of Magic was behaving. The French Minister of Magic wasn't great at his job either, but she knew that in a situation like this, he would have investigated the matter thoroughly before coming to any conclusion.

But that hadn't been the case here. There had been so much press attack on Harry that she had felt extremely sorry for him, but had been unable to do anything to help him out.

And then she remembered meeting him at the Gringotts.

It had been a pleasant surprise for her to see him again and she was happy that he too seemed to take an interest in keeping their budding friendship alive. The meetings that day had been eventful, with both parties alternating between walking on eggshells around each other and sharing jokes like old buddies.

In the end though, they had not managed to get through everything that Ragnok had wanted to discuss. Harry though had given Ragnok his word that he would think about it and would keep in touch with them all one way or the other. In fact, by the end of the meeting, it became clear to everyone there that there was only one possible go-between Harry and Ragnok.

Who was also sitting there.

And who was helping Bluntaxe with the Blck family account.

Herself.

She knew it placed her in an unique situation. The goblins knew that she was an unofficial member of the Order of the Phoenix as well, having signed up recently to help in whatever way she could to bring down Voldemort. It was unofficial because the Order itself was not recognized by the Ministry and she had not yet been involved in missions to be able to cement her place in the Order.

In fact, Fleur herself was of two minds. On the one hand, she wanted to help wizarding Britain of the scourge known as Voldemort while on the other hand, she wasn't sure if the Order was the best organization to go about it. Sure, it was headed by Albus Dumbledore, who she had a smattering of respect for. But based on what had transpired at the Triwizard Tournament, and in particular that the man who had been Alastor Moody had been a pretender and had managed to fool Dumbledore, had eroded a fair amount of the awe she had had for the man.

On the plus side though, Bill Weasley was also in the Order and being a part of it allowed her to spend time with him there when she couldn't hang out with him at Gringotts.

On the minus side though, she had to deal with so many other characters who she thought were particularly shady and weak minded - Mundungus Fletcher for one could not resist her Allure even when she had turned it down to the lowest she possibly could. And then there was Snape.

She scowled into her cup of tea as she thought of the man.

He had always sneered and carried an attitude that reeked of way too much self-importance. She had disliked the man during her brief period at Hogwarts itself and was surprised that the man was part of the Order.

She had been told that Snape was firmly on the side of the Light.

She didn't believe a word of it.

She hadn't been tasked into doing anything major for the Order till the night at the Department of Mysteries. Unfortunately or fortunately, she had not been in the country that day, having been sent to the Paris branch of Gringotts. As a result, by the time she had reached London, everything had finished.

She had heard the story from Tonks and Bill. Remus had been catatonic while she had not been allowed to contact Harry or any of the others involved

She had had half a mind to disagree and contact Harry or the others, but she decided to take a wait and see approach.

In fact, on the day that Harry had visited Gringotts, if she had been the one to drop him back, she would have told him that she wanted to contact him but wasn't sure if she should or not.

But she hadn't been the one to Apparate him back.

And so she hadn't told him that she too was part of the Order.

She had noticed, and she was sure the others had as well, that whenever the Headmaster of Hogwarts' name was mentioned, Harry's eyes would tighten slightly.

As a result, she wasn't sure if letting Harry know that she was part of the Order would be a good thing or not.

But one thing she was certain.

She would definitely fight the good fight.

If Voldemort won in Britain, it would not be long before he took over in France as well.

And that, among other things would make her an Undesirable, as she was already seen as being a half-breed and thus unfit to carry a wand.

And if it came down to a choice between Harry and Dumbledore, even though she hoped the Light wouldn't fracture itself this way, her choice was clear.

Harry.

He had selflessly (perhaps needlessly as well) saved her sister's life in the Black Lake.

The least she could do to repay that gesture was to be on his side when the final battle took place.

Yes, she was sure of it. Her parents may not approve of it, Bill (if they did eventually end up getting married) would not approve of it.

But she was clear in her thinking.

She would follow Harry.

Just as she had set her mind on the topic and had begun to appreciate the taste of the tea that she had been sipping absent-mindedly for the past fifteen minutes, there came a rather unfamiliar Patronus.

She had never seen the Patronus before, and she had no idea who would send a Patronus to her for help.

But she needn't have worried about the who.

For, the moment the message recorded in the Patronus played, she recognized the voice and rushed out to grab her wand.

The person would definitely need all the help they could get.

Seeing that its work here was done, the otter Patronus moved through the walls and disappeared as a beam of light to its next entrance.

The Patronus had achieved its purpose here.

Fleur Delacour would rush to the aid of Hermione Granger.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23: Do**

Her temper had been the stuff of legend at St. Mungos for the brief time that she had been hospitalized there.

The Healers there had had half a mind to not treat her owing to the racket she was making, but then they reminded themselves of the medical equivalent of the Hippocratic Oath.

But she had made that decision a really difficult one for the Healers.

She had insisted that only purebloods treat her and any one who was found to not be from a pureblood line was yelled at repeatedly by her as being "Half-breeds" and "Mudbloods".

In the end they had to resort to sedating her and just out of spite they had given her a shot of the muggle drug cannabis which they hadn't yet decided whether to tell her or not.

Physically for most part there was nothing wrong with her. Normal abrasions and other minor scratches as a result of trekking through the forests were the only ones.

The issue had been largely mental.

She seemed to have been scared out of her mind by something or someone.

When Albus Dumbledore had brought her to St. Mungos, he had told them nothing, just that she had needed to be rescued from a rather tight spot that she had brought on herself by her words.

All those who had heard of the Senior Undersecretary and later Hogwarts High Inquistor knew that she was very likely to do such a thing.

It had taken them a long time to get through to her and to make her realize that she was safe.

In between though she would have episodes where she would insult the bloodlines of all, even if they happened to be purebloods like she had wanted.

When she had come back to, it was a big relief for most of the St. Mungos staff.

Dolores Umbridge had really been a real pain in the neck for so many of them especially during their duty hour at St. Mungos.

And now, with some luck, she could be released and sent back home.

And even for staff who weren't involved with her care, they found out just how much of a nuisance she could be when she had seen The Daily Prophet detailing the measure put forward by the Minister Rufus Scrimgreur.

At first, she had laughed when she had read the name of the Minister, assuming that the idiots at The Daily Prophet couldn't even be counted on to not mixup the names of the Head of the Auror Office and the Minister for Magic.

When the nurse had brought her medications for the morning, Dolores had shown her the name and designation and had started laughing. The nurse had looked on at Dolores, confused as she hadn't found anything funny.

When Dolores had mentioned that the Minister for Magic was Cornelius Fudge, it was time for the two occupants of the room to switch roles of the one who was laughing at a joke and the one who was confused.

Once the nurse's laughter had died down, she informed Dolores how Cornelius Fudge had been sacked as Minister a long time ago and how Rufus had been promoted to his place.

Dolores' response was to shriek and then point her wand at the nurse and very nearly curse her. Thankfully for the nurse, the former Undersecretary's (for that was what she was now - former) scream had alerted other nursing staff on the level and they had rushed in to the ward to examine the issue. Seeing that she was about to curse the nurse, five nurses, whos had burst into the room near simultaneously, all shot off Stunners.

The impact was immediate and Dolores slumped back into her bed. The nurse who had come to give the former Hogwarts High Inquisitor her potions was still shaking from the course of events that had taken place.

One of the other nurses had relieved her of the potions while another gave her a Calming Draught and guided her out of the ward and into the office of the Head Nurse for counselling.

Back in the ward, the most senior of the nurses stepped up and undid the Stunners on Dolores while the remaining four pointed their wands right at Dolores again.

With the Stunning spell at their wandtips again.

Once brought back to consciousness, Dolores was told in no uncertain terms to behave failing which she would be lodged in a different ward. The details were not specified but the threat and the implications were clear.

That threat had helped to keep Dolores calm for a couple of days, which thankfully led to the day she was to be discharged.

Dolores tried to be as pleasant as she possibly could manage for the duration she had to check herself out. She had no family member and no real friends to help her out.

Grimacing at the body stiffness she still had, mainly as a result of limited activity over the past few weeks and months, she took the Floo to the Ministry.

It would do her good to check on what was the latest in the Ministry and what she had missed.

Everywhere she went she could see that most people tended to avoid her. The only ones to acknowledge her, and even that was through a cursory nod, were some of the more traditional pureblood families, the ones who held the same set of beliefs as her.

Dolores Umbridge knew that she had backers. She had always had backers. They might not come out of the woodwork, but they were always there, supporting her and her cause.

It was only that fool Cornelius Fudge who did not have the guts to get things done, the way she had decided to get things done.

And she would have very nearly succeeded as well.

Didn't she nearly manage to prove via continual articles in The Daily Prophet and through a careful line of questioning that the boy they all pandered to, Harry Potter, was delusional?

Didn't she very nearly manage to get him to reveal the location of the notorious mass murderer and Azkaban escapee Sirius Black? She didn't care about the rumours that he was actually innocent. No, he was definitely guilty and he would be brought to justice one way or the other!

And she had very nearly gotten the answer from the damn boy as well.

But it had all been for naught.

Thanks to that half-blood and that mudblood friend of his.

Oh the two of them would pay for that.

Dolores was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't realized where her feet were taking her. Pulling back into the present, she realized that she had reached her old office, from the time when she was the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic.

And right now on the door in stencilled letter read another name that she loathed completely.

Weasley

Mr. Percy Weasley.

Those blood traitors!

But while she could go after the half-blood and the mudblood, she would be very careful in her vendetta against the Longbottoms, the Lovegoods and the Weasleys. They were rather prominent pureblood families that had been on the side of the light for a very long time.

But those were names that would stay on her list.

To be struck down by her personally.

In person and on the list.

In fact she realized that she could return the favour to the half-blood and the mudblood pretty soon.

It was evening time at the Ministry and there were still a lot of people moving up and down and across trying to accomplish their tasks - both Ministry workers as well as ordinary wizarding public.

Stepping into an empty corridor, Dolores cast a Disillusionment charm on herself. She felt the telltale sign of it working as she had the feeling that someone had cracked an egg on her head and the contents were now flowing down the back of her neck.

Re-entering the main pathway, she moved quietly, taking care not to bump into someone and giving her disguise away.

It was a tiring task as she had to correct her course every few steps to ensure her own safety.

She finally managed to make her way to the lifts, which thankfully had remained open long enough for her to slip through.

She was wondering how to navigate the lift to the floor that she needed to go to when another gentleman, one she recognised, walk into the lift and press the exact floor that she needed.

She had to cast her mind around for a short bit to remember the name of the man. Ah yes!

Yaxley!

That was his name.

And he had always been rather helpful to her.

Which basically meant that he would be particularly useful ally in her quest for revenge.

As the doors opened and Yaxley walked out, Dolores waited for a couple of seconds to allow him to get a headstart before following out herself. She didn't move very far ahead, not wanting the sounds of her shoes to give her away (in the main hallway it had been fine as there were so many others walking about, but here in the depths of the Ministry), that was just asking for trouble.

She waited until the lift doors had closed and the lift had moved on to its next destination before cancelling her Disillustionment spell, but applying the spell to quieten her footsteps and speed walking to reach close to Yaxley.

Drawing out her wand, she held it firmly in her hand as she tapped Yaxley on his shoulder. As she had anticipated, Yaxley was thoroughly startled and had his wand in his hand and a spell on his lips before he caught sight of Dolores.

He didn't bring his wand down, but simply cocked an eyebrow at her in a questioning manner.

"Ah Lord Yaxley. I hope you have been doing splendidly. I wonder if you would be interested in a task that will be of mutual benefit"

"Thank you Ms. Umbridge. May I offer my deepest sympathies for the fact that a fine woman like yourself has been removed from your deserved position of Senior Undersecretary. Now what is this undertaking that you propose and which you claim is of mutual benefit?"

"Thank you for your kind words Lord Yaxley. Unfortunately, it is not something that is within my control is it? The best are often put to the test to ascertain that they are truly worthy of the position they aspire to hold. I shall take this setback as yet another trial that I need to conquer. Now, I am aware that you share some of my views regarding half-bloods and the muggle borns, don't you Lord Yaxley?"

At this, Yaxley frowned in confusion. This was seldom the type of question one got asked whatever one's opinions on the topic maybe. He decided to play it neutral.

"Well, Ms. Umbridge, I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about. There are of course varied pedigrees of wizards and to classify one as being less worthy than another makes no sense. In the same way, stating something to be more worthy than another makes no sense as well."

Dolores had anticipated this. She knew that none of those who supported her would do so in public. Only in private. And although they seemed to be the only ones at the current level, it was essentially a public setting.

"Right you are Lord Yaxley. One is neither less worthy nor more worthy than another. But if one does think that way, then one must be reminded of their place, musn't they?"

Yaxley was amused. Was she really trying to bait him into giving an answer that would condemn him? He understood what she was getting at but was sorely disappointed with her efforts. Personally he was glad that she had been take off from the post of the Undersecretary as he was sure that a little while longer and she would have brought ruin to the position by her lack of tact.

"Well, Ms. Umbridge, it is not in the hands of any individual to remind someone of their place now is it? There is the Wizengamot that can take of these issues for you. You have my personal guarantee that I will look into this matter if, as a concerned citizen of the wizarding world of Britain, you were to send me a memo on the same"

Yaxley hoped that it was enough of a hint to Umbridge to get her to divulge the details of what she was planning via a private memo instead of corridor-side conversations.

Nodding her head, Dolores replies, "Yes of course Lord Yaxley. I shall do the necessary research and drop you a memo detailing the transgressions that the party in question has committed. Now, I do not wish to hold you up any further. Thank you for your time my Lord. Have a pleasant evening!"

"Have a pleasant evening as well, Ms. Umbridge. I look forward to receiving the memo from you"

With that Yaxley walked in the direction he had been heading before Dolores had interrupted him.

Dolores waited for a couple of minutes, silently counting down in her head backwards from hundred to one before she started in a similar direction for the purpose of her visit to this floor.

She reached an unmarked door, which if she hadn't known of its existence and purpose before, she wouldn't have even known where it was, let alone what it housed.

There was a guard immediately after opening the door. But the guard seemed to be thoroughly absorbed in his reading of Quidditch Weekly that he did not even notice when the door creaked open slightly to allow Dolores to enter the room.

Walking quietly past the guard and thanking her stars that the Silencing charm that she had placed on her footwear was still active, she moved deeper into the room where a second door was present.

This door was usually kept under lock and key, much like the muggle version of the locks, as an added measure of safety. However, because the guard was just outside, the padlock had been removed.

Placing an area silencing spell around the door (and surprising herself at her ingenuity), Dolores, cast an Alohamora to open the magical lock on the door, causing it to swing slowly inwards when it was successful.

Walking inside and closing the door behind her but no casting the locking charm on the door, Dolores used the Lumos spell to navigate through the many cabinets that housed the many folders in this room.

Folders that contained the details of the address of the muggle born and muggle raised children.

Rummaging through her handbag and finding a spare piece of parchment, Dolores also pulled out a quill that was always inked, even as she continued moving towards her target cabinets.

Digging through the varied folders in that cabinet took a while, but she had finally struck gold.

Bringing up the parchment and the quill she began to write the two addresses that she had found.

She had a memo to send after all.

With the addresses of one Harry Potter and one Hermione Granger


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24: S**

The nightmares wouldn't end.

They simply wouldn't.

He had tried Dreamless Sleep Potions as well. Tried it as long as he could without risking the possibility of getting addicted to it.

It had helped briefly, but not for long.

And it had slowly yet steadily been taking a toll on him.

Naturally be was always tired and always on the short fuse. Many a time he had very nearly punched Snivellous in the face for his father cutting and flippant remark and had had to be restrained by the combination of Moony, Bill Weasley and Moody.

With some of the others pointing their wands at him to shoot off stunning spells if it was deemed necessary.

Dumbledore did seem to be concerned about his situation, but Sirius no longer trusted him. The combination of sleep deprivation as well as the constant nightmares and questions from the past eroded whatever little faith he had had in the Headmaster.

He had kept his interactions with him to the barest minimum possible.

Only in three people did he place his trust of which two were away at their school, the one that Dumbledore had literally abandoned and had surrendered to the most disgusting example of a hypocritical witch one could ever have the misfortune of meeting - Dolores Umbridge.

Granted, the Headmaster had had no choice at that moment (and he felt mildly guilty because it was his idea to start such a group in the first place, not that he had suggested such a name or had he known this was the course of action that was going to occur). But he could have done something from the sidelines, tried to pull some strings to help the students out, particularly the ones that were being persecuted, like Harry and Hermione. But he had continued to keep them in the dark.

Sirius sighed to himself. He knew he was fighting a losing battle. He knew where exactly this train of thought would lead him to. And he did not want that.

As it was his nights were filled with horrors from the past and possible atrocities from the future. He didn't need them in the day time as well to make his very existence Hell.

And to top it all off, here he was, stuck in the Black family home in London, unable to venture out anywhere, unable to even get a breath of fresh air. He hated being confined indoors. He hated being back to the very place which held bad memories for him. He had hated everything about this place in his past.

And he hated everything now as well.

Including that horrid house elf that deigned to be his most faithful servant and yet would probably kill him in his sleep if he could manage it.

Oh how Sirius wanted to be rid of Kreacher. How he hated him.

But Dumbledore had been firm. The house elf could not be allowed to go. He simply knew too much about the details of the Order that sending him away would be akin to signing their own death warrants.

That is what Dumbledore, backed by Moody had told him.

Sirius had not believed it.

He had tried time and again to point out that as the current Lord Black he could very effectively do a memory wipe of the house elf and ensure that no one got hold of the Order's secrets.

Not even other Blacks.

But the other two had been against it totally. Moody's argument had at least made a lot more sense - why tamper with memory and take a chance when you can keep the person with you and under you at all times and not have to take any sort of chance.

Dumbledore on the other hand and talked at length about the wrongness of such an action.

While Sirius still wasn't swayed to their argument, the rest of them had been, particularly Moony and particularly to Moody's argument.

And while he could have overridden them all and simply have claimed the whole thing as a private matter of House Black, Sirius did not want to do that. He did not want to antagonize the rest of the group even though he was sorely tempted to yell loudly at them and shake them all up until they could see sense.

And so Kreacher had stayed, with his memories intact. And with each passing day the taunts from the house elf became more and more severe.

It was during one such taunting session that Sirius lost it. He ranted at the elf for a good half hour calling him names that he knew no one else in the house would have approved. The elf had initially been surprised by the verbal rapid fire that Sirius was shooting but was soon grinning as he had managed to get under the skin of his supposed Master.

But when it got to the matter of Sirius' mother though, Kreacher's smile dropped. He very nearly wanted to kill Sirius for his words. And Sirius seeing that he was now getting under the skin of the elf, upped his ante.

When Moony walked in a couple of hours later, into the kitchen, he saw things strewn everywhere. For a moment he had been worried that the Death Eaters had somehow gotten in and had managed an attack on the Headquarters.

But then he saw Sirius engaged in a fistfight, a muggle style brawl if you will with Kreacher. Both had long scratch and bite marks at different places in their body.

Seeing the situation, Remus immediately knew who had thrown the first punch. As a house elf could not use magic to attack his or her Master, the only way left for him or her was physical assault. It also meant that Sirius had snapped and said something so dreadful that the house elf had decided to take the risk of death by attacking his master.

Remus stepped in and managed to pull the elf away from Sirius. He would have done it the other way, but this way was more respectful to the wizard.

The moment Kreacher realized who was holding him, he jumped out of his hands, scratching at Remus' hands till Remus gave up.

Muttering "Halfbreed" and "Dark Creature" loudly enough for both of them to hear, Kreacher quickly made his way out of the kitchen before Sirius could censure him. Just as he was closing the door though, he threw Sirius a look of undisguised loathing and hate, a look that promised that if he were in a position to be able to get Sirius killed, he would definitely do so.

Thankfully for Kreacher, his look had not been noticed by either Remus or Sirius, both of whom were busy staring at each other with the expression on Remus' face showing disappointment at the actions of Sirius, who in the meanwhile had an expression of defiance on his face.

Moments passed and still not a word was spoken between the two friends before Sirius abruptly left the kitchen as well, leaving Remus to his thoughts.

It was the last interaction that the two would ever have.

Sirius' night time horror show continued to run its course with nary an interruption nor an advertisement. He began to isolate himself even further, refusing to go downstairs and holing up entirely in either his room or the room that hoised Buckbeak. He skipped Order meetings as well, beginning to feel that they were exercises in futility and achieved nothing while the losses and the body counts kept mounting.

On that fateful day, Sirius had been away feeding Buckbeak and doing some thinking. He had found himself doing that a lot lately, especially as he was attending to Buckbeak. The knowledge he had gained from the books, and especially the spell he had seen in the Grimoire. In fact, the spell seemed to consume every spare bit of thought that Sirius had.

The more he had thought about it, the more the plan surrounding the spell had crystallized in his mind. He was sure that he was going to pull it off and he knew that he would pull it off.

Keeping away from the others had made this task easier for him. It wasn't that he was worried about the reaction of the others to his plans, he knew what their responses would be. He simply did not want to disclose it to anyone.

Not even to Moony.

This was something he was going to play close to his chest.

He had also begun to train himself. Not a lot mind you, but being unable to get out the house and move around had aided in the complete destruction of the physique and stamina that he was once very proud of. He had been a Beater for the Gryffindor team, well that wasn't strictly true, he was the reserve Beater for them, but the reserve was by his choice. And he had played with the team a fair bit.

It was also the reason why the bond between James and him was the strongest. Sure, the four of them had done a lot of things together, but by being a part of James' Quidditch exploits, Sirius had been able to forge a deeper friendship with him than Remus. Of course, the difference was quite subtle, but it was there nonetheless. If it had ever come to choosing between James and Remus (and Sirius was willing to bet his very freedom on that never happening), Sirius was sure that he would more likely side with James, even though Remus would probably the one who was right.

The Quidditch training had given Sirius another round of self-confidence and had improved his stamina considerably.

And that physique and stamina had been utterly wrecked by the dozen years he had spent in captivity and the couple of years he had spent moping after that. He had heard from Lily how muggle Healers or doctors had conducted studies and had made it clear that to a healthy body was the sign of a healthy mind as well. He briefly wondered why that tidbit had not struck him till date for if it had, then he would have been able to sleep better earlier.

But it did not matter. He trained and trained and trained and pushed himself to limits. In the beginning it was painful, and Buckbeak whose room Sirius often borrowed for his training would look on amused at the lack of strength exhibited by the human.

By the third or fourth day, he was able to push himself further. And if Buckbeak had eyebrows, he would have cocked an eyebrow at the effort and the improvement that Sirius had shown.

On that fateful day, a Patronus had come from Dumbledore telling him about what Harry had done and the risks he was up against. Sirius wasn't sure to who all the message had been sent to and frankly he didn't care.

All that had mattered to him was that his godson was in great danger and he needed him.

Before he left though, he knew it was time.

Time to perform the spell.

And as it was a spell from the House of Black, it required some preparations.

He grimaced at the thought of what was required for it. Some of the weirdest things that he had ever seen, such as the hair from the body of an acromantula and a bone of a goblin, were required.

And while he still couldn't roam out freely and buy the ingredients (not that these would be sold in ordinary markets in any case), he could always use his Animagus form, again in a limited capacity to wander into the shady and seedy areas and scope out for what was needed.

And for once, Sirius had had the foresight to get things in advance and keep them in Statis charms (there was always the risk that they would get contaminated and lose potency because they weren't fresh, but it was a chance that he was willing to take nevertheless. There was absolutely no way in which he would be able to gather the ingredients at the eleventh hour.

And so he had gathered them. And now had come the time to use them all.

Thankfully the preparation work was short. He had needed to make a paste, and then to smear the paste on his body. He had to trace out a heptagon, and the bigger it was the better.

As the two largest canvases on the human body were the torso and the back, and since he had no way of tracing it on his back (and it had to be necessarily done by hand and not by wand), he had to draw it out on his torso.

With his blood mixed into the paste.

It was quite literally Black magic after all.

And Black magic sans blood was about as common as playing Quidditch without a Snitch.

While anyone else might have been astounded at the speed at which Sirius finished drawing a heptagon, the man himself wasn't. Apart from training himself and the thoughts of implementing the spell, Sirius had been practising drawing out the heptagon as well. While he wasn't a prodigy at Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, he knew that the heptagon had to be as even as an odd sides number figure could be, and so he had practised and practised till he was sure about the length of each side of the heptagon. He had even crumpled pieces of parchment and then drawn heptagons on them to ensure that he would be able to get the figure right on irregular surfaces (such as his torso) as well.

And he had finished drawing it in under fifteen minutes.

Pulling on a dark T-shirt, Sirius put on his robes as well. It would do no good to let anyone know about any marking anywhere, unless they had seen it beforehand.

Nodding goodbye to Buckbeak and stroking his feathers a second longer than usual, Sirius walked out of the front door, past the portrait of his mother which he had half a mind to wake up and taunt, but in a moment of rare wisdom decided wasn't the best thing to do. He passed the troll umbrella stand, the very same that his niece Nymphadora (he enjoyed teasing her with that name, so long as she didn't have her wand in her hand) Tonks had tripped over on the night the Order had brought his godson for the first time to Number 12, Grimmauld Place and into the cool night air.

Anyone apart from him would have had to walk beyond the Anti-Apparition Ward to be able to Apparate, but because he was the Head of House Black, he could override the wards any time he wanted. And he decided that he wanted to do that.

One could not always Apparte directly into the Ministry. One had to Apparate to the checkpoint and then go from there. But the checkpoint also had a detection system in place that would warn the Aurors if any high profile criminals were trying to break into the Ministry.

Realizing that he could use that to his advantage, Sirius did exactly that - Apparating to the checkpoint, where he was not really amused to see that the alarm had already been activated and wondered if the Aurors were already there.

Deciding to check it out, Sirius took the lift to the Department of Mysteries level.

Once he got there he had no need to guess which direction he had to go in.

He saw many members of the Order as well as many of the Inner Circle of Death Eaters.

All had crowded in the room with the Veil.

Setting his jaw and hoping that his godson was safe and that the ones who had come with Harry were also safe (in particular a bushy haired young witch), Sirius walked in an joined the fray.

He fired off a variation of the Stunning spell that would keep the one hit with the spell knocked out for a larger period of time and they couldn't be revived with a simple Renervate spell. He wanted to take down as many as he could. Legally.

(He had gotten another wand, during one of his outings in his Animagus forms, again from the, he still chuckled every time he thought about it, black market. It wasn't as good as his original wand, but it was adequate and served its purpose)

Wading through the crowd, he spotted the person he was hoping to see apart from his godson.

And smiled internally.

Excellent.

He had known when he had seen that the alarms had already been tripped that it was very likely that it signalled the presence of another person.

And like his mind reminded him, the person he was looking forward to meet.

Bellatrix Lestrange

Oh, that woman was powerful but still not as powerful as the Sirius from about a dozen years ago. But the Sirius of the present? Well, he wasn't sure.

The Sirius before the training would have stood no chance with Bellatrix.

But this was a Sirius who had trained himself up to a decent level.

He was sure that he would be able to hold her at a stalemate, probably with great difficulty.

Realizing that, Sirius called out to Bellatrix.

And Bellatrix responded.

The grin on his face kept getting wider and wider the longer her duelled with Bellatrix.

The two of them were in their own world, completely oblivious to their surroundings all the while duelling each other.

Deciding to up the stakes, Sirius started to taunt Bellatrix

"Bella, my dear cousin, it seems like you are going soft! Is that the best you can do?"

Perfect.

The words had their desired effect.

While for most part he had been oblivious to his surroundings, Sirius was now very aware that he was in close proximity to the Veil. He needed to keep an eye out in case Bellatrix used something that he wasn't prepared for and part of her arsenal included using her surroundings.

Screwing up her face, Bellatrix put a lot of her power into the Stunning spell that she aimed at Sirius. While she was no longer a Black, having been married to a Lestrange, her magic would still not allow her to cast a lethal spell at the Head of House Black.

Sirius was momentarily surprised at the choice of spell. He had expected something far more sinister, but it was teh Stunning spell that was rushing towards him. Comprehension dawned slowly on his face as he realized that family magic would not allow a lethal spell to be cast at him, but that a simple spell for a lethal purpose had somehow escaped the magic's purview.

Surprise returned to his face as he realized that the Blacks had never thought of this eventuality even though they had tomes about magic being intent based. At the same time, the spell struck him square on the chest with enough force to knock him into the path of the Veil which Sirius gladly welcomed.

He carefully kept the surprised look on his face, lest anyone notice the grin he was sporting on the inside.

Thankfully for him, most were in utter shock as to what was happening to him to realize that the grin had escaped his tight confines.

Nobody noticed the grin, except for Moody, who had the best possible angle, but who was not convinced of what he had seen.

Sirius Black fell through the Veil, for the most part managing to hold the look of surprise, but extremely glad on the inside that his plan had worked perfectly, till he knew no more.

Playing probably the greatest prank the wizarding world would ever see.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25: HHg**

Harry sighed for only he knew how manyeth time. Besides sighing, he had no idea what else he could do.

It had been a while since his sixth year had begun and things hadn't exactly been great.

To be precise, two months of the term were now done, with school beginning on September first and here he was sitting on the one of his least favourite days, if not the day he disliked the most in the calendar.

Halloween

Where historically, everything that could go wrong had gone for Harry year after year, especially in relation to the magical world.

His Aunt and Uncle were reminded of the preence of the magical world rather forcefully, or should that be doorbelley?, every year, ironically by the muggle world. And barring a shorter temper from both, for which Harry had managed to find a way out, towards his actions on that day, it hadn't really been much of a problem for him.

His thoughts drifted to the entire gamut of what had happened in the two months.

There was first the traditional train journey itself, which was remarkable in itself as Malfoy hadn't made his annual visit to taunt Harry and his friends. This had bothered Harry greatly obviously, and so on his way from the washroom on the train, he had managed to find the compartment where Malfoy was seated and had managed to get into the compartment unsen with the help of his trusty Invisibility Cloak.

Apparently not.

He had waited and waited for Malfoy to gloat on some point or the other to Parkinson, Goyle, Crabbe and Nott. But it never came. In fact, Harry noticed that where Malfoy would have been the one to try and control the conversation, he was merely part of the audience in this one. And it seemed to be by choice.

This had worried Harry as he was sure that something must have happened, apart from his father being found out as a Death Eater and on top of that having been caught by a bunch of schoolkids at a place where none of them had any right nor need to be.

No, it was clear to Harry that something else had happened that had changed Malfoy quite fundamentally.

Harry had shivered involuntarily and that had very nearly resulted in him being caught.

Thankfully the rustle of the cloak and his movement had been explained away by the wind that had chosen exactly the same moment to act up and the explanation, given by Malfoy seemed to have convinced everyone, Malfoy included.

Apparently not.

Once the train had stopped and the rest had all gotten off, Malfoy had stayed back for a bit rummaging through his trunk seemingly searching for something that he needed quite urgently.

Again, apparently not.

Harry's curiosity had been piqued and when he had gotten close enough that he felt he would be able to get the drop on Malfoy, everything went pear shaped.

When he came to, he noticed that he had been placed in a Body Bind. And while he had not shown it, the coldness in the eyes of Malfoy had scared him a little.

This was definitely not the same Malfoy who had gone home in the summer, the one who would have brandished about the Malfoy name and the fact that his father would take care of the whole business.

This Malfoy had an air of lethality about him. He did not seem to have the confidence to back that up, but anyone with that kind of an air about him needed to be watched carefully.

And when his spoke, for the first time it sounded menacing.

"You really thought you got in undetected did you Potter? Really, the delusions that you have about the level of your abilities astounds me, Potter. And to think, that old ditthering old fool who I have the misfortune of calling Headmaster seems to hold you in such high esteem. What a pity. And you are supposed to be the one to take down the Dark Lord? What an utter joke!"

Out of the blue, Malfoy threw a solid punch on his nose, packing enough power into it that it would have been very evident to anyone who had been around that Harry's nose had been broke, possibly in multiple places.

Tears had automatically sprung from Harry's eyes and he was screaming internally in pain. But he could do nothing about it, could not hold his nose or do anything to help ease the agony. All he could do was listen to Malfoy talk.

"That? That was for the past. That was for what you did to my father. You couldn't just roll over an die could you? But no, you had to play the hero and look at what happened. You set off a chain of events even you with your imagined power will not be able to overcome Potter."

Out of the blue again, Malfoy threw another punch at pretty much the same spot. If there had been any doubts previously about whether or not his nose had been broken, they were now well and truly settled.

"That? That is for the future. Stay out of my business, Potter. You have been given fair warning. And if we ever cross paths again, and I know it will happen because you can't seem to control your hero tendencies Potter, it will be a duel far more intense than the farce we had in Second Year. Like I said, I have given you fair warning, stay out of my business. Ask the Mudblood, the Blood Traitor, the Squib and the Lunatic to do the same as well. If you cross my path the next time, you are in for it."

"Now, while I do wish we could extend this conversation since you have been such an attentive audience, I am afraid if I am late any further, the sorry excuse for the Deputy Headmaster would assign me detention even before term begins. And since my time this year is very precious, one that I would definitely not want to spend in meaningless detentions, it is time for me to go. Oh and before I forget"

He muttered the Disillusioning Charm and Harry felt the familiar trickle as if someone had broken an egg on his head. He muttered the Body Binding Spell as well and aimed it in the general direction where Harry had been. It seemed that he had put a lot more power into the spell and the intention had also been greater.

It looked like someone else had also been doing some extra studying.

Without sparing so much as a backward glance (not that he would have been able to see much in any case), Malfoy had left the compartment with his head held high.

Harry on the other hand had been in a state of panic - he had no idea if anyone would even realize that he was missing until the train had left from Hogsmeade station (when he thought about it, he realized that he had no idea where the train actually stood for most part of the year; during their Hogsmeade visits, there was no active train service as the adult wizarding population could see no point in spending significant amount of time on travel when they could simple Apparate or Portkey or Floo to the place). He knew there wouldn't be a problem with his luggage, both Neville and Ron would take care of that for him.

He knew he would hear an earful from Hermione later, but he wasn't concerned about it. He needed to be able to get to her for her to give him an earful in the first place.

He had been unable to move. And time had been ticking by.

Suddenly there was a lurch as the train began to move. Having realized what had happened, Harry had begun to panic.

And so had almost missed the opening and closing of each compartment door and his name being called at every compartment.

Finally the one he was in had been opened and Tonks had walked in. Her hair which usually was in a bubblegum pink colour, was now sporty a more sedate look. The expression on her face was also one of someone who had undergone a lot of trials recently.

And Harry couldn't fault her on that.

She had indeed gone through her own version of hell.

Realizing that Tonks had been calling out his name, but that she had heard no reply, Harry began to panic again.

Thankfully for Harry though, Tonks had been a lot more resourceful and had come prepared for the situation where Harry would be unable to reply to her calls. She had quietly been using the Homenum Revelio spell, the one as the name suggests, that had been designed to reveal the presence of any other humans. Not wanting to risk taking anyone by surprise, she had used a version that did not visibly emanate from the person who was out of sight.

Tonks had cast the spell immediately upon entering the compartment and realizing that she had a positive response she had kept up her regular appearances of searching by calling till she reached Harry.

She undid the concealment charm and took a step back.

Harry had bled quite a bit through his nose and consequently there was a lot of blood on the floor right next to the prone Harry.

Realizing that he had had a Body Bind placed on him and surprised by the sheer strength behind the spell, Tonks undid the spell while exerting a fair amount of power. She had then pointed her wand at Harry's nose and put about the same amount of power into the Episkey spell, while loudly asking Harry to forgive her for the pain he was about to experience.

Harry hadn't understood why Tonks had apologized till the pain from the resetting of the bones in his nose hit him. It was absolute agony for the Boy Who Lived, who at that moment very nearly became the Boy Who Cried.

When the pain had subsided, Harry had stood up, after uncurling himself from the fetal position and gently touching his nose, only to realize that it had a slight crook to it (not as noticeable as Dumbledore's, but a crook nonetheless), which made it easy for anyone to see that Harry's nose had been broken.

Deciding to worry about that later, Harry had turned to Tonks, thanked her and was just about to leave when he was surprised by Remus coming through the compartment door. He had not heard Moony's voice and yet there he was standing in front of him.

Remus had said nothing, had simply held eye contact with Harry for a short while before running his wand over Harry in a manner reminiscent of Madame Pomphrey. Nodding to himself that everything seemed to be fine for the moment, he had made it clear to Harry that he would need to have Madame Pomphrey do a professional check-up on him before he got to bed that night.

Harry had said nothing, in part because he was still a little surprised to find both of them there, mainly Remus, and in part because at the sight of the man, Harry inevitably thought of Sirius and the rescue missions later that summer and his temper started acting up.

Before he said anything he would later regret, Harry had nodded, albeit a bit curtly to both Remus and Tonks (which left the latter surprised while the former had seemed to expect it) and had gone about on his way.

Harry had reached the gates of Hogwarts in record time, for he had not once turned back to look and see if either of them were following him (though he was sure that they were doing that rather covertly) and cursed at the sight at the gates.

There standing nd looking for him was the person he hated most after Voldemort and the man he had held responsible for Sirius' death.

Severus Snape.

Or as Dumbledore would insist, Professor Snape.

The moment Harry had crossed the gates, the man had started his verbal abuse and taunt of Harry, trying to get a rise out of him. It had very nearly worked as well, but Harry had managed to keep his temper in check. It only made the man try even harder resulting in his taunts getting even nastier.

And as was the case, Snape had gone too far when he ended up inadvertently speaking ill of Lily Potter as well. Harry had stopped in his tracks and his entire countenance now screamed absolute rage at the man.

Snape on the other hand had also come to a stop, only realizing then what he had spoken and trying to rationalize it with himself.

There was absolute silence as the professor and student, no, a better description would be, two people who loathed each other ended up glaring daggers at each other. A minute passed, then two, then three and the two still held their stares. Harry was certain that Snape was trying to use Leglimency on him, but as he himself was rattled, he wasn't able to focus on it.

Finally, after what seemed like eternity, and with still not a further word spoken, both headed towards the castle. Neither of them paid any attention to the other except to ensure that the other's wand was not pointed at them when their back was turned.

It had been an extremely tense atmosphere as they reached the Great Hall, but Harry had preferred that over the constant taunting and for what he would face next.

The Welcome Feast had just gotten done and the students were just about getting ready to go back to their dormitories. And although she was supposed to help the First Years find their way, Harry noticed that Hermione had kept looking at the doors to the Great Hall and the moment she had spotted him, she had been watching him like a hawk, with a frown on her face.

Harry had gulped. He knew he was in for a lecture. Perhaps he could feign an illness and ask Madame Pomphrey for a Sleeping potion?

No, that would only delay the inevitable.

Harry crossed over and joined her, even as Ron seemed to have taken up Hermione's slack and was directing the First Years (with of course less than a quarter of the enthusiasm that Hermione usually showed for the task).

Greeting the two and Neville who had spotted Harry and had made his way towards him, Harry mentioned that he would talk about what happened on the train later, his eyes instinctively looking at Malfoy at the Slytherin table, where his eyes blazed with the humiliation that he had faced at the hands of both Malfoy and Snape.

So fierce was his gaze at the back of Malfoy's head that he had initially missed what Hermione had told him. Seeing no response from him and noticing his expression locked in the direction of the Slytherin table, Hermione shook him by his hand.

"Harry! Harry! Are you even listening to me? You seem to be so focused on the Slytherin table and Malfoy. What happened on the train?". Seeing the scowl on Harry's face at the mention of the train, she decided to change the topic and get back to it at another time.

"You missed out the appointments of the faculty for this year. Hagrid is back at the post of the Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Professor Slughorn will be the new Potions teacher.."

As she finished that line, she saw Harry (who was still concentrating on the Slytherin table) whip his head about and fix her with a penetrating glare. From the look on her face, she knew that he had figured out what that had meant.

Snape was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

She could see the anger and rage build up in Harry as he came to the only logical and possible conclusion. She could understand Harry's feelings behind the decision, and the fact that by appointing Snape as the DADA teacher, Dumbledore had effectively stabbed Harry in the back (while it wasn't strictly true, she knew that Harry would take it as such).

She watched Harry as he closed his eyes and fought a battle to rein in his temper, the very same temper that had caused him so many problems over the past so many years. Before he could blow his top though, Hermione squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of support.

And it seemed to have worked as well, as Volcano Harry seemed to cool down quite significantly.

Nodding his thanks at her, Harry turned around and spoke just one word to the three who were around him. Well, a lot more people were trying to get around him as well, but Harry ignored them. The three here, along with Luna and Ginny were pretty much the only ones to have trusted him with their lives in June and he was not going to let some of the other try to get into his inner circle. Of friends.

Quietly mentioning, "Infirmary", Harry walked out of the Great Hall and to the working place of Hogwarts' favourite and Hogwarts' only Healer, Madam Pomphrey.

Thankfully for Harry, the matron was in a decidedly good mood which she exhibited in, "Why Mr. Potter, did you miss me so much that you have come to see me on the day you returned to the castle itself?" that caused Harry to stop in shock and blush furiously and open and close his mouth repeatedly in a brilliant imitation of a goldfish.

Once she had completed her checkup and was satisfied that there was nothing serious with Mr. Potter, Harry had made his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, where, just a he reached the painting of the Fat Lady, he realized that he did not know the password. He was sure Hermione would have given him the password, but he had been staring at Malfoy for most part and had started when he heard that Snape had been made the DA teacher.

Not knowing what to do and not seeing any of his fellow Gryffindors around, Harry paced up and down outside the entrance to the Common Room. Although the Fat Lady recognized who he was, she could not let him in without him giving the password (the magic of Hogwarts did not permit decision making on who to allow and who not to allow based on familiarity especially for the guardians of the House entrances)

The Fat Lady had kept studying him silently, unlike the previous times when she was usually very chatty, she had remained extremely quiet. After some time, Harry began to feel like a specimen under a microscope and so had decided to find McGonagall and ask her for the password instead.

Thankfully for him though, the portrait hole had opened just at the same time that he was going to change the direction of his walk.

Out of the portrait hole came Hermione, with lines of worry (which had become a constant feature on her face following those attacks) creased on to her face. She noticed Harry standing there and she immediately ran to him and engulfed him in a massive hug, which surprised Harry greatly. He had expected a lower version of this when he had set entered the Great Hall, but not when he was just returning after a simple check-up. But it was still good to be embraced in a hug like that by the girl he realized he had come to have a crush, if not something deeper, on.

In a manner that was more Mrs. Weasley like than Hermione herself, she pulled back and examined Harry with a critical eye as if trying to convince herself that he was fine and if not, where exactly he was hurt. She had picked up on the broken nose right away and was worried about what other injury Harry might try and hide from her and the others.

She simply raised an eyebrow at Harry who shrugged and said nothing but flashed her a thumbs-up. She wasn't convinced, well anyone who knew Harry well enough would know to never take him on his word when he said or gestured that everything was fine, but at the moment she let it drop.

She turned and told the Fat Lady the password (interestingly enough it was "Carpe Diem") and they walked inside where Harry immediately noticed that Ron, Neville and Ginny were all there in their seats near the fire by themselves. For most part the rest of his housemates had left them alone except for the occasional glance that was thrown in their direction. Glances that alternated between admiration and disbelief.

Harry would have gone to his friends by himself, but it seemed like Hermione was not taking any chances. She held him by the forearm and dragged him to the group, where he noticed Ginny's eyes had slightly narrowed at Hermione's actions and were focused on where Hermione was holding Harry.

Thankfully for Harry, Ginny did not say anything. She wasn't aware that her demeanour had changed and that it had been noticed either. Nevertheless, she did not say anything except to ask of Harry if he everything was alright.

Knowing this was going to come and knowing that he would have preferred to have done it later, but also knowing that it was now pointless to resist, Harry quickly told the rest of them in hushed whispers about the whole incident on the train.

The response had been exactly what he had anticipated. The boys had grim expressions on their faces while the girls looked horrified. Not one of them doubted that Malfoy would not deliver on what he had said.

The first person to react was Hermione. She had gotten up from her seat and had gone around hugging the other four, all the while asking them to stay safe. Neville had been surprised to be included in the hug (he did not Hermione that well after all), but he managed to hide the surprise on his face. Ron's surprise was evident on his face as he was usually the recipient of handshakes instead of hugs. Ginny and Harry had no such surprised expressions as they were used to Hermione's hugs.

And unsurprisingly, although not a word had been exchanged on the subject, they all knew that they were going to train to fight even harder.

All of them were worried about the coming darkness, but none more that Hermione, who was absolutely terrified for all of them. And the others understood, especially since they had all been there in one way or another at the time of the attack.

Shaking his head and pulling out of the path his thoughts were taking, Harry focused on what had happened after the night they had all returned to Hogwarts.

There had been that discussion with Professor McGonagall, who seemed strangely less formal to Harry than before, He was reminded of her letter to him and the fact that he had provided her an answer of a couple of lines, but had not actually taken her help.

Here though, she was helping him sort through the subjects that he needed for his NEWT Levels and for which he was surprised to see that Slughorn was not as picky as Snape for his Potions students.

Not having the book for the course even though he should have bought it, Harry had been forced to use one of the old books in the Potions bookshelves.

And boy had that been a disaster right from the start.

First off the book itself had been very messy, with the owner of the book deciding to scribble all over it. Harry had not been able to clearly read the original instructions and so had been forced to use the owner's version.

And that had landed him enormous success.

And had caused a big divide between him and Hermione.

He had become star pupil of Potions over the course of the two months, much to the dismay of Hermione. While Harry had initially attributed it to her jealousy of having been beaten, that idea had been made to take a hike across the world and a new one installed in its place.

She had made it categorically clear to him that she thought he did not deserve the credit of being the best Potions student because he could not explain the changes that he had made in the Potion making process. He was simply following a different set of instructions which in turn were helping him out to make perfect potions. But it was not his skill in the subject that was responsible for it.

Harry had had to admit to himself that the point that Hermione had made was true. And he also remembered that whenever he was good at something, Hermione was the first to acknowledge it, like in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Still, he could not give up the book. It had far too much information in it that it would probably be extremely invaluable for anyone whoever needed to make potions, at least of the Sixth year. Idly, Harry had wondered if the same owner would have made such versions for the Potions textbooks from First to Fifth Year. Having a copy of it would prove to be extremely useful after the disastrous classes he had had with Snape.

In the end, Harry and Hermione worked out a compromise. He would buy a new book, but would keep a copy of the one he had found as well and would not use it in every class, but from time to time if he needed to.

While Hermione hadn't been very happy with the last part, she had known that this would be the best she would get and had agreed.

While Harry was still waiting for the new book to be delivered, he flipped through the remaining pages of the copy he had in hand.

He noticed that for every potion, the owner of that book had made his or her own corrections. It was amazing to see the sheer number of places where the corrections had been made, which, when Harry had shown to Hermione, had led Hermione to wonder why the improved version of the spell wasn't being thought. She had requested of Harry a copy of the book for herself as well as she had wanted to thoroughly understand what the changes meant and why the affected the potion in the way they did.

Harry had tried to find the name of the previous owner of the book, but had had no success. He thought he had seen something on the front page, but the letters had seemed to be thoroughly random - SSP, PSS, SPS - as if one were working out combinations in which the three letters could exist. But what he did notice was that in all of the different combinations, the letter P seemed to always stand out taller than the two S, with one of the S being shorter than the other. Harry had no idea why this was so, attributing it to the doodling of a sixteen year old kid like himself wanting to highlight the most important part of his name with the tallest letter.

Harry had noticed that in a couple of locations, something had been written and then had been struck off by the owner. Assuming that they were failed changes that the owner (SPS as he decided to call him or her) had made, Harry had peered through the strikes to see what was written underneath. A little effort into the whole process and Harry realized that the ones that SPS had struck off were not amendments to the potions, but were instead spells by themselves, spells that Harry had not heard of or heard about so far, which confused Harry.

Why would one write down spells in a book that had nothing to do with spellwork?

And was the crossing off done because the spells didn't work? Or was it because SPS did not want any of the others to find out.

He had decided that he would show it to Hermione, perhaps on Halloween itself, when their classes would end early and they would have to go down for the Feast on that day. Perhaps he could skip the meal and sit back with Hermione, preferably only her, but if that wasn't possible then with Ron, Neville, Ginny (and Luna, if they met at the Room of Requirement instead) and discuss the changes by SPS. Actually, the more that Harry thought about it, the more he felt that it should only be him and Hermione discussing about it. The others weren't exactly aware of this whole book saga and consequently to bring it out into the open would raise more questions than it answered.

He had asked Hermione earlier that morning before setting off for classes if she would be free after the Halloween Feast. She had arched her eyebrow, amused by the fact that Harry seemed to be quite nervous to discuss something with her and for asking her if she was free for it. She held the eyebrow in place for an extra second, before nodding and enquiring what was it that he wanted to talk about.

Harry mentioned to her very briefly that he had found something of interest in the SPS modified copy of the Potions book and asked her to look at the places where SPS had struck things out. He refused to elaborate further, telling her that he would discuss with her later and hurrying off in the direction of, surprisingly, the library.

For Hermione, not being given the full answer was asking for trouble. Walking into her Arithmancy class, she had her mind on the SPS version of the book. All through the class, her concentration kept getting diverted to the book to the point that she very nearly loudly cursed in the middle of the lesson at being unable to focus.

Finally, once the class was done, she skipped lunch and went to the library, where unsurprisingly Harry was not there and began to go through the book. She realized within moments what Harry had spoken about and taking out a spare piece of parchment and a pen (this wasn't an official assignment and she did have years of experience with a quill, so it was best to get resused to the normal way of doing things). The pen she managed to pull out from her bag brought tears to her eyes as she was reminded of who had given her the pen and where.

How happy she had been when she had gotten the pen, which incidentally was her first pen.

How she had spent hours writing with it and bettering her penmanship.

How she seemed to run through refills so quickly and had to badger her parents to get them for her.

It took her a while to calm down, but she realized that her mood would be down for the rest of the day as she simply wouldn't be able to get past the memories associated with the pen.

Sighing, she tried to concentrate on the spells she had discovered and began to note it down in the parchment. The combination of parchment and pen did make for an odd duo, but it seemed to be the best the two worlds offered (parchments in general tended to be better at being resistant to water, while the ink of ballpoint pens was also usually water resistant). Hermione wrote down the spells as well as whatever details she could figure out from the book.

It took her a while, but Hermione was nothing if not thorough. Every little reference to a spell that SPS had written had been transferred on to her parchment, along with notes that she had made from her analyses based on the incantation and wand movements (which had also been struck off). None of the spells seemed to be familiar to Hermione. Most of it though did seem to be defensive in nature which made her wonder if they would be good additions to add to her repertoire.

When she had finished, she realized that she had spent most of her free time working on the same and that if she did not get a move on, she would be late for her next class, Ancient Runes. As classes would be let off early today for Halloween, Hermione would not be joining Harry and Ron in any of the common modules and would see them only at the meal.

She got up and rushed towards the Ancient Runes class, where she realized that she was amongst the last to arrive. She cursed herself and found her usual seat, beside Padma Patil and Susan Bones, the three girls sharing a mutual love for the subject and respect for each other. The class strength was limited, Ancient Runes was after all a difficult course taught by the strict Professor Spakr (he did give Professor McGonagall a run for the money), and was further reduced as this was now a NEWT level class.

Professor Spakr began as he always did, in a no-nonsense manner and ensuring that everyone in class paid attention to him. He showed no favouritism and was absolutely impartial. Once he was done with reviewing what they had learned from Third to Fifth Year, he outlined what was going to be the syllabus for the next two years. The attention of every student in the room, including Hermione who had been thinking about the spells from SPS during the review, was on Professor Spakr now.

The Feast was drawing to a close and to those who knew Harry and Hermione could see that both seemed to be a little agitated about something and they seemed to want to get away from the crowd itself.

In Harry's case that was not unusual. Any sensible member of the wizarding world would realize that things usually went wrong for Harry on that day and it was very natural to want to wait for the day to end as quickly as possible.

In Hermione's case though, that was not usual. She usually was the picture of calm, unless there was a test or exam coming up, in which case she was the very picture of a person in panic. But no one had ever remembered her being so agitated on Halloween Feast.

In reality, Hermione was not just agitated. Two emotions, one of which was agitation and impatience, were warring within her as she tried to calm herself down.

She looked across the table where Harry was sitting and noticed that he too looked very nervous, and attributed it to the most plausible cause.

Catching his eye, she nodded at him and he nodded back. They both got up from their seats to go first to the Gryffindor Common Room and get their notes before heading to the Room of Requirement. They had each, indepedent of the other, had decided that the Room of Requirement would be the best place to have the discussion as they weren't sure if they would be interrupted or their conversation eavesdropped into otherwise.

They had told Ron, lest he feel left out, that they were doing some extra bit of studying and had asked him if he wanted to join. Ron, while slightly more mature than the previous year, was not someone who would willingly do extra work, unless that work included either eating, sleeping or Quidditch. He had declined (like both Harry and Hermione had expected him to) and had asked them to give him the summary of it later (which they had not expected, but were nevertheless happy to agree to do).

They had taken a few steps in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower, when it happened.

Again.

On Halloween.

The door to the Great Hall had swung open rather fiercely. Owing to the lighting for the Halloween celebrations, it was impossible for anyone to say, from the comfort of their table, if there was anyone standing at the doorway.

But that guess proved to be quite unnecessary as they could hear the sound of footsteps, making it abundantly clear that someone was indeed there.

The entire Great Hall was silent and seemed to be collectively holding its breath. The end result of this was that every step that the person took, echoed all around and tended to sound both loud and sinister.

Up at the Heads table, Dumbledore had a frown on his face. Unlike two years back when Alastor had not yet turned up, everyone was accounted for. Hence it could not be any of the staff or the students or even the caretaker who was making his or her way through.

Drawing his wand out and standing up, Dumbledore began to make his way towards the entrance doors. As it was, whoever it was knew that their position had been compromised by the noise that was echoing off their footwear and the castle walls and so if they had wanted to attack, they would probably have been a lot more tactful. Having said that, Dumbledore was pretty clear that he did not want to take any chances, not with the situation as bad as it already was. If it was somebody like Bellatrix or worse still, Voldemort himself, it was best if they were dealt with before they got too close to the students for him to be of any use.

Making sure that his voice could be heard over the din that the shoes were now making, Dumbledore spoke into the night "Who are you? Reveal yourself! What business have you at Hogwarts?"

As he had expected there was no reply to his question and so he kept moving towards the door. While the person had no doubt walked a comfortable distance into the Great Hall, the lighting still did not permit long range vision, something that Dumbledore was currently cursing.

As he approached the traveller, he noticed that the person was wearing a travelling cloak and had hooded themselves so that he or she could not be identified. Dumbledore was beginning to get more and more agitated.

Compounding to his agitation was the fact that Harry and Hermione were also walking towards the visitor with their wands out. While the rest of the students had remained seated, these two, who he had seen leave the Hall almost as quickly as they could once the last item at the Feast had been served, seemed to have decided to turn back and investigate the matter as well. They had not yet made their presence known, both of them having used charms to silence their feet, and so Dumbledore was sure that the visitor was unaware of their presence.

That was until the two decided to step into the same lighted zone as Dumbledore but had taken guard positions to Dumbledore's point.

The Headmaster wasn't sure how effective this tactic would be and to be frank he was quite amazed that these two children were treating it like a hostile situation, but he realized that he shouldn't have been. The two were the most affected in the attacks that had taken place on the day he had gone to pick Harry up from his guardians and so it was natural that they would have taken a greater interest in their self-defence.

Concentrating on what was in front of him, or rather who was in front of him, Dumbledore pointed his wand straight at the person and repeated his earlier questions: "Who are you? Reveal yourself! What business have you at Hogwarts?"

The person, and if Dumbledore had to wager he would guess that the person was male judging by his physique, seemed to take his time in responding. His hands were free of wands, but that did not mean anything to the three who were effectively guarding the rest of the school (The Deputy Headmaster and the rest of her colleagues had placed themselves in front of the House tables with each table receiving at least two Professors).

The uninvited guest still didn't speak, but slowly pulled back his cloak, while the hood still remained. The clothing underneath revealed rather fine robes, or as fine as anyone could see with the limited light (the Headmaster would have to go to his office to reset the lighting of the castle) and it confirmed Dumbledore's guess that the person was indeed male, and definitely a wizard.

The man seemed to cock his head to each side, looking for what only he knew, but he did take note of the positions of the three people around him. Turning to Hermione, he gave her a short bow, before doing pretty much the same to Dumbledore (but to whom the bow was shorter) before turning to the third member of the group.

As he turned, the light caught the insignia that had been placed on the robes and Hermione gasped, while Dumbledore looked on confused and puzzled.

Harry on the other hand, said nothing, for he had not managed to take a peek at the insignias.

A burst of light from somewhere (and if Harry had to guess, his would be Hermione firing a Lumos spell to help him out) allowed him to see what had caused Hermione to gasp.

Only for him to feel confused, while his rage built up.

What a way to taunt him!

On the left hand side of the robes, at the location where pockets would be present on muggle male shirts were two crests.

Belonging to two Houses of contrasting personalities.

And both of which were very dear to Harry.

The man slowly removed the hood that had been obscuring his face causing Harry to step back.

Green met hazel in an expression of utter confusion.

Facing Harry, was an image he had seen quite a few times, including in a mirror.

There standing and facing Harry, stood a solid form looking about as old as he would have been at the time he died.

Harry could only open and close his mouth without being able to speak a single word, let alone a coherent sentence.

With the crests of House Potter and House Black on his robes, there was only one person who could have had that effect on him.

"Hello Harry! You have grown up, my son!"

James Charlus Potter was b(l)ack!

_

A/N: And that's it for the first part! For those who have stayed and read all the way through, thank you very much! I won't know the whole lot of you, but still a huge thank you!

There is some good news and bad news: The good news is that I have started with the second part of this story. The bad news is that I don't know when I will finish up the story. The good news is that I will finish it up.

The exact details of the story, I am still thinking through, so if you have any ideas that you would like me to incorporate, PM me.

And for those who are following this story, when I put the sequel up, I will add another "chapter" pointing you to the new story.

Till then, so long, and thanks for all the follows! Cheers!


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